


When Spirits Call

by musicneverdies1702



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Bad Albus Dumbledore, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Elemental Magic, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Hermione Granger Bashing, M/M, Magical Inheritance, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ron Weasley Bashing, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25161265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicneverdies1702/pseuds/musicneverdies1702
Summary: There’s a talent that some wizards can manifest - that of an elemental. They can control one of the six established spheres of control: earth, water-ice, fire, air, spirit, and light-darkness. Spirit elementals have been persecuted since they were discovered because their powers also confer upon them the ability to control life and death. Since the Ministry of Magic was established, Unspeakables have been culling the population of spirit elementals until none remain. As the ability to control one element or another is genetic, they believe that they have gotten rid of any bloodlines that could hold the spirit elemental genes. Until Harry.
Relationships: Dean Thomas/Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter/Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter/Dean Thomas, Harry Potter/Dean Thomas/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 129
Kudos: 486





	1. Prologue: Eye of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy the first chapter of When Spirits Call! Big thanks to the people over at Writer's Den Discord who've been putting up with my incessant questions and requests for advice regarding this story. 
> 
> This story will pick up on Harry's 16th birthday in the next chapter. As this is the prologue, it is a bit shorter than future chapters will be. Any confusion or questions on how elementals work in this universe will likely be answered when it's posted. 
> 
> With that said, have fun reading!

_ October 31, 1981 _

The house that sat at 479 Raion Run was blown to smithereens. The entire right side of the house was exposed to the great outdoors, jagged edges protruding from every side of the chasm. The gate had been forcefully separated from the fence surrounding it and lay several feet from its previous position. 

A cloaked figure stood on the sidewalk observing the damage. The last cloaked figure to enter the house had met a rather grisly end, yet this person strode confidently onto the cobblestone path leading to the broken front door. 

“Why is it always me? Bloody worse than Dumbledore, she is.” A low voice could be heard muttering irritably as the person looked over their shoulder, then slipped into the house. The body of James Potter was slumped over on the floor with another figure looming over him. His wand was on the coffee table where he’d dropped it when his uninvited guest had come barging in. The new intruder removed his hood and greeted the other. 

“It’s always good to see prompt response times.” James Potter’s Reaper bowed her head to her Master, then disappeared where she stood with the glowing orb that was Potter’s soul clutched in her hand. 

Death shook his head fondly and proceeded up the stairs to where he knew the nursery would be located. Nothing had been disturbed, it seemed that Voldemort had taken James out without a fight. That changed when he stepped into Harry’s room. There was a pristine circle radiating out from Lily’s body in front of the crib, but the rest of the room bore scorch marks from Voldemort’s explosive demise. 

The toddler in the crib had been calling out for his mama, but fell silent when Death entered. Harry knew this new person wasn’t his father. He was just as tall as James, yes, and shared the same messy black hair, but everything else was all wrong. This man was in his late-twenties to early-thirties, much older than James had been, and now older than James would ever be. The sickly pale pallor of his skin added to his not-James appearance. Not-James approached the crib, attempting to make himself look as non-threatening as possible. Harry screwed up his mouth and let out a heart breaking wail. 

“Mama! Dada!” Death quickly scooped up the toddler and held him against his shirt, letting Harry’s snot and tears soak into the shoulder of his cloak. 

“Shh, little one.” Death tried to offer what little comfort he could whilst glaring up at the stars, visible through the rather noticeable hole. 

“Meddling Fate, thinks she knows everything.  _ No  _ morals whatsoever! It’s as if he’s simply a piece on a chessboard…” The angry rant trailed off as Harry dried his tears and looked up at not-James. 

“Well, there you are, Harry.” Death cooed at the baby in his arms. If Fate had had her way this little boy would be set up as a lamb for slaughter with nary a soul to help him on his way. He could not in good conscience let that stand. Death was well acquainted with the concept of fate and a higher plan. Many souls had their deaths marked on them from the day they were born. His Reapers took care of those souls and ferried them on their way to the afterlife. There were times, however, when that pesky little issue of free will got in the way. Free will for the humans at least. Death could not directly interfere in the going ons of mortals until their souls died - or were about to. 

He had the dead woman at his feet to thank for his ability to stand here, holding her son. If he looked closely enough he could see the etchings of runes in the four corners of Harry’s crib. He knelt down, still clutching Harry, and carefully pushed the left sleeve of Lily’s blouse up to her elbow...yes, there it was. A rune was carved into the flesh of her forearm, white lines stark against her skin. He had to commend the ingenuity of this woman, finding the sacrificial ritual and tweaking it to her advantage. A life for a life.

He pulled Lily’s sleeve back down and stood up, glancing at Harry’s cherubic face. The boy was staring down at his mum, clearly confused about why she wasn’t moving. Death gently placed Harry back into his crib and knelt down to be at his eye level. 

“Hello, Harry. I’m here to help you succeed despite my blasted sister and her ‘I am Fate and my fate will be followed’ tripe.” Green eyes scrunched in confusion and Death chuckled, knowing that at 15 months old a human child had no hope of following what he was saying. Oh well, he wouldn’t be remembering this conversation anyway.

“You see, Fate plans to have to face off against Voldemort with a Horcrux in your head and just a spurt of talent with fire to help you. I say that’s bollocks. I like you, Harry. I don’t plan to see you in my realm anytime soon.” With that, Death stood up and began enacting his plan, his reason for being here in the first place. 

His hands rose up and his eyes glowed, looking into Harry’s magical core. It was a twisting mess of undulating strands, all brightly colored and coiling around in a huge mass. He was looking for one strand in particular. His hands twitched in the air, physically moving strands around that no one else could see. As Death got closer to the center of Harry’s core, he spotted a flare of brilliant red out of the corner of his eye. Snapping his head to the right, his hand jerked out and snagged the cord. Death looked down at the writhing strand of power in his hand. The boy was meant to be a fire elemental. And not a very strong one at that. That simply wouldn’t do. 

Death closed his eyes and his whole body seemed to glow. The bright color of the string he held began to leech out, leaving it a pure white. A smirk unfurled upon Death’s face as a darker color began to saturate the strand, eventually leaving it a gleaming silver. 

The newly silver strand was carefully placed back amongst the others and Harry’s magical core sank back into his body, out of sight. Death crouched back down to look at Harry. 

“You should have a fighting chance now if I’ve anything to say about it. This Horcrux, though,” A pale hand reached out to trace the still sluggishly bleeding lightning bolt scar on Harry’s forehead. “I can’t do anything about that. That part’s up to you. You’ve been touched by death - the event, not me.” A wry chuckle echoed in the silent room. 

Death retracted his hand, flicking his wrist and ridding Harry’s face of any smudges of blood his finger might have made. He’d done what he came for. He’d just have to hope it was enough.

Death’s hood was replaced and he took one last glance around the nursery, making sure that there was no sign that anyone had been there. With a bow to the boy staring at him from the crib, Death left the house. It would be fifteen years before the two met again. 


	2. Explanations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter, clocking in at 3.8k words. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think. 
> 
> Warnings: foul language.
> 
> Note: In the book, Dumbledore picked Harry up from the Dursleys in mid-June, well before Harry's birthday. In this fic, I have moved this occurrence to August 1. This is so Harry can have his manifestation at Privet Drive. Therefore, 2.5 months of time in canon will be condensed into 1 month. As not much of note happened in that time, it shouldn't be too noticeable.

_July 31, 1996_

The first thing Harry noticed upon waking up on his sixteenth birthday was the crack on his bedroom ceiling. It looked a bit different than it had the night before, more silvery. Harry wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. 

The second thing Harry noticed was a glowing silver orb hovering right above his right hand.

“The fuck?” Harry shouted, scrambling up in his bed to lean against the headboard. The orb moved along with his hand, always floating several inches above his palm. He knew what this was, every magical child learned about it upon attendance at Hogwarts. This was his elemental manifestation. The only issue: no one had ever mentioned a _silver_ manifestation to Harry before. 

Harry reached out to poke at the orb with his left hand and his fingers just phased through, as if the sphere wasn’t there at all. _But it still gives off light_ Harry mused, watching the silvery light play off the walls and ceilings of his room as his hand moved the orb around. 

Prefects gave a speech about elemental manifestation to every first year their first night in the castle. Purebloods and most halfbloods already knew the basics, but muggleborns were clueless about the world they would be joining for the next seven years. Harry fondly recalled Hermione’s incessant questions the night they had received their speech. 

* * *

_September 1, 1991_

_“Upper years, head straight to your dormitories!” Percy Weasley called out. “First years, find a seat somewhere in the common room.” Harry shared a confused glance with Ron and they squeezed onto a sofa with a tall, olive-skinned boy who introduced himself as Dean._

_“My name is Percy Weasley and this is Willow Fawcett,” The girl standing next to Percy gave a shy wave. “And we’re your fifth year Gryffindor Prefects. We’re meant to give you lot an introduction to what elementals are.”_

_Ron’s face cleared up and settled into the sofa; evidently he knew what Percy and Willow would be talking about._

_“Every wizard and witch has the ability to manifest an elemental talent on their sixteenth birthday.” Willow’s clear voice rang out through the common room. “This does not mean that everyone does. Some people are simply carriers of an element - those who do not manifest but pass on an inclination toward a certain element to their children. Others will manifest fully on their sixteenth birthday. The way you will know if you’ve manifested will be an orb floating above your palm on the morning of your birthday. It will remain for a minute after you wake up, then disappear. A brand will then magically burn itself into your skin right above your heart - don’t worry, it’s painless.” She added when worried gasps broke out._

_Percy then stepped forward to deliver his part of the speech. “The orb will be one of five different colors depending on your element: green is earth, blue is water-ice, red marks fire, white is for air, and yellow is for light-dark. For each element, there is at least one member of staff who can control it. If you happen to be one of those who manifest, you are required to inform the corresponding member of staff and you will then begin training under them to learn control over your gift. Any questions?”_

_Hermione Granger’s hand was immediately in the air. Harry slouched back into the sofa, resigning himself to a spate of questions if the way she acted on the train was to be any indication._

* * *

_July 31, 1996_

Pulling himself out of his reverie, Harry redirected his attention to the silver sphere just in time to see it wink out of existence. The moment it did, the patch of skin just below his left collarbone started to heat up and he pulled the neck of Dudley’s old t-shirt away from his skin to see the cause. 

Harry nearly fell off the bed when he saw swirls of silver dancing across his skin, slowly coalescing into a defined shape. Petals started forming one-by-one until Harry recognized the shape of a lotus.

“A lotus?” Harry muttered in bemusement as he let the collar of the t-shirt settle back down against his skin.

“A lotus traditionally symbolizes rebirth.” Harry’s hand dove under his pillow at the sound of the unfamiliar voice and grasped his wand. He was taking no chances after what had happened the previous summer with the Dementors. He pointed his wand straight at the stranger’s face. While Harry had been inspecting his new lotus tattoo, the person had snuck into his bedroom with Harry being none the wiser. 

_But how? I would’ve heard them open the door or Apparate in…_ Harry’s mental monologue trailed off when the stranger lowered the hood of the heavy cloak they were wearing and continued speaking.

“Hello, Harry. My, it’s certainly been awhile, hasn’t it?” The removal of the hood had revealed a young looking man, around 28 or 29 if Harry had to guess. His hair was pitch black and just as tousled as Harry’s was. The stranger’s hand came up to run through his hair and the stark contrast of the deathly pale hand against the black hair was startling. The man had an aristocratic look about him, sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw lending themselves to an overall air of competence. 

Harry slid out of his bed, not once letting his wand drop from it’s spot aimed between the man’s dark brown eyes. “Who the hell are you?” He asked.

“Ah, that’s the question, isn’t it. Who am I? You can call me Death, I suppose. That’s really more my job than my name though.”

Harry had to force his wand to remain steady instead of dropping to the floor in his shock.

“You expect me to believe that you’re, what, the embodiment of Death?”

“Well, when I’m the only one who can answer your questions about that lotus tattoo, then yes, I do.”

Harry’s gaze dropped to the front of his shirt, double checking that it wasn’t somehow see-through. The tattoo had only appeared a few moments before after all. “How do you know about that?”

“How about you stop pointing that wand at my face and we have a civil conversation?” Death waved his hand and a cushy chair dropped out of thin air to rest against the wall across from Harry’s bed. Death shrugged off the robe he wore to reveal a plain black t-shirt and jeans, with black trainers on his feet. “What? A guy can’t be comfortable while he works?” He said in response to Harry’s disbelieving look at his ensemble. He settled into the chair, legs crossing at the ankle.

Harry sank down onto his bed, hardly believing the situation. This had to be one of the weirdest situations he had found himself in, and after five years of magical education with a megalomaniacal dictator after your head, that was saying a lot. He still had a tight grip on his wand, but lowered it to rest at his side. 

“Right...right then. Why are you here?” Harry asked Death, who in his opinion looked _far_ too comfortable in his newly conjured chair. 

“Like I said, I’m here to tell you about that lotus tattoo. I take it you’ve never heard of the lotus branding?”

Harry nodded, he was familiar with the five symbols of elementals but not once, in any of the conversations he’d had or books he went through, was a lotus even mentioned. 

“A lotus is the mark of a spirit elemental.” Death leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked for all the world like a professor about to give a lecture. “Before the Ministry of Magic was established, there were six types of elementals running around instead of the five you have today. Shall I give you the long version or the short version?”

“The long version, please.” Harry was sick and tired of adults hiding things from him and he jumped at the chance to finally get an in-depth explanation.

“Well, historically, spirit elementals as a group were secretive about the extent of their powers. They would usually work as exorcists, or help benevolent ghosts move on to the afterlife. They were a very empathetic people as they held a unique connection to the spirits of others and sometimes could know a person better than they knew themselves. Spirit elementals were revered and held in great esteem.”

“What changed?” Harry asked. All of that sounded wonderful. 

“1709 happened.” Was the cryptic answer. “What do you know of abnormal manifestations?”

“There are abnormal manifestations?”

“That answers that I suppose.” Death heaved out a very put-upon sigh. “ _What_ they’re teaching these kids today, I’m sure I have no clue. Bloody self-serving hypocrites, the lot of them…” Death went off on a muttered rant, not sounding happy in the slightest.

“Er, Death?” Harry interrupted the rant to get the man back on track, although he had been enjoying the cursing out of many a Ministry employee and Hogwarts Professor.

“Ahem, excuse me. I’ve got a bone to pick with humanity if you couldn’t tell. Anyway, a normal manifestation is what you just experienced. Orb over the hand, branding over the heart on your sixteenth birthday. An abnormal manifestation occurs before an elemental turns sixteen. It’s triggered by moments of high stress and emotion, when an elemental’s power would help save their life. The elemental will begin to glow and there will be a burst of power extending in a ten foot radius around the child. The burst of power will carry with it a pure version of the substance the elemental can manipulate.”

“Hang on, then why haven’t I manifested before?” Harry interrupted again. He’d been in plenty of situations where having an elemental’s powers would’ve definitely helped him!

“Control of your elemental power is instinctual, to a certain degree. It’s different for spirit elementals. Instinct plays a large part, yes, but you would’ve needed training of your powers in order to get any use out of them on the battlefield.”

“So what, all spirit elementals manifest at sixteen?”

“Not exactly. In every life-threatening situation you’ve faced, you were up against Voldemort. Sure, manifestation of your powers would probably have killed the host he was in at the time, but it wouldn’t have killed him entirely. If you had manifested, it would have just tipped him off to your power and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how catastrophic that would be.”

Harry frowned. Something wasn’t adding up here. “I still don’t see how that would’ve stopped me manifesting. It’s not like the powers would have known that and decided to stay put. Are you saying Voldemort’s immortal?” And wasn’t that a terrifying thought, an immortal Voldemort?

“Death cleared his throat, almost looking embarrassed. “ As for the immortality, not exactly. I’ll explain that later. And your powers? That would be because I bound your powers until you could manifest properly.”

“What? What gave you the permission to do that? I’ve had _enough_ of people manipulating my life! You’re no better than Dumbledore!” Harry exploded, standing up and pacing the small area of the floor that was free from clutter. 

Death remained seated and calmly responded, “I’ll thank you to not compare me to that interfering old codger. The reason I could do that is because I’m the one who gave you your powers in the first place.”

“Huh?” Harry said eloquently. 

Death rolled his eyes and gestured back at Harry’s bed. “Sit down, brat. I haven’t got all day and there’s a lot to get through.”

Harry plopped himself back down onto his bed, not pleased at all with the man (deity?) sitting across from him. 

“I visited your house right after Voldemort killed your parents and tried to kill you. Dumbledore got one thing right; it was your mother’s sacrifice that prevented the killing curse from affecting you. It wasn’t love like he thought, though. It was an ancient ritual in an old necromancy text. How your mother found it and tweaked it so it worked like it did, I’ve no idea. She was a brilliant woman, Lily was.” Death smiled a bit, as if in memory of better times. 

Harry almost asked why Death hadn’t saved his parents, if he truly was Death in that regard, but he held his tongue. He correctly assumed that Death would be explaining that soon. 

“I might be Death, with all the rights and responsibilities that the position entails, but there are also restrictions. I can’t interfere with the lives of mortals until their souls die. Even then, it’s the job of my Reapers to collect departed souls. However, I could interact with you because death touched you and you survived. You’re a special case, Harry, and you’re the first human I’ve spoken to in millennia.”

Harry couldn’t help but be bitter about Death himself telling him that he was special, he’d never wanted any of it. 

“I could also be there because Fate was distracted with the culmination of one of her grand plans.”

“Fate’s real?” Harry was already a bit shocked at finding out that the embodiment of Death was a living, breathing person… or living as far as Harry could tell. Now Fate was thrown into the mix too? How many more deities were out there spying on the lives of humans?

“Unfortunately, yes. She’s my sister. A very annoying one.”

Harry let a small chuckle out, entertained at the thought of all powerful deities squabbling like he so often saw Ron and Ginny fight. 

“Fate had her own plan for you that would’ve resulted in you facing off against Voldemort with a Horcrux in your head and a bit of talent with fire. I might be Death, but I’ve still got morals and a conscience.”

“A Horcrux?” Harry hadn’t heard the term before, but given the way that Death had spat the word out, it wasn’t a good thing. 

“A bit of soul. It’s created by someone performing murder and splitting their soul. The split-off piece is then trapped in a container through the use of a ritual.”

Harry felt slightly nauseous at that admission, but then the greater implications hit him, “You said I’ve got a Horcrux in my head… Voldemort’s Horcrux?”

Harry’s wand _did_ hit the floor that time, following Death’s solemn nod. He distantly heard the clatter of his wand rolling away across the floorboards. He felt violated, tainted, as if he’d never be clean again. His mind kept rolling the words ‘Voldemort’s Horcrux’ around over and over again. He felt that any amount of talent with fire would have been of little use against a madman with half a soul. 

“I was supposed to be a fire elemental?” Harry latched onto the least disturbing piece of information that he had just been given.

“Not a very strong one, but a fire elemental nonetheless. James was an elemental too. I thought that it was rather unfair to you, so I made some… _adjustments_ to your magical core that night. You’re now a pretty strong spirit elemental. I figure you’ve a better chance of taking out Voldemort’s Horcruxes that way.” Death leaned back in his seat and worried his lip, thinking of the numerous Horcruxes out there. They were a personal affront to him. Nothing should be able to escape him in the end.

“Horcruxes, plural?” Harry’s voice embarrassingly rose to a squeak on the last syllable and he cleared his throat, hoping Death hadn’t noticed. Nothing beside a small quirk at the corner of his mouth indicated that he had. 

“Six in total if we count you. A diary, a locket, a cup, a diadem, a ring, and you.”

“How do we destroy them? For that matter, why didn’t you take it out of me if you knew it was there?” Harry noted Death’s wince at the first question. 

“I’m afraid there’s not going to be a _we_ when it comes to destroying them. I’m already pushing it by being here to explain it all to you. Magic is covering for me with Fate, she’s quite fond of you as well. I can’t remove the Horcrux because that would be too noticeable, Fate is bound to notice. She didn’t notice my manipulation of your elemental powers because she was looking elsewhere at the moment and afterward, she had no reason to go digging around in your magical core.”

“If you’re not helping me then how the hell am I supposed to get rid of them by myself?” Harry indignantly asked. It was all very well and good for Death to pop in here and dump a veritable boatload of information on him, but to bail right after? That was low. 

“I’ll be posting one of my Reapers at Hogwarts this year to help you out. Just because I can’t help you myself doesn’t mean I can’t send someone who can. There’s always ways around the rules, you know.” Death smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself. 

Harry knew that lesson full well, he’d spent years at Hogwarts skirting around the rules. “Right, all-powerful mentor, got it. What about actually using my powers?”

“The Reaper will help you out with that too.”

“Why can’t an actual person do that?”

Death rolled his eyes at the ceiling and clasped his hands together as if praying for patience. “Come on, Harry, you’re not an idiot. Why haven’t you heard of a spirit elemental before?”

Harry scowled at the insinuation that he’d be an idiot if he couldn’t figure it out. He was silent for a minute before it finally clicked. “Because there aren’t any left?”

“Bingo! Now the kid gets it. Exactly, there aren’t any left. You’re the only spirit elemental alive today.”

“But, why?” Harry asked, wondering what could have led to the annihilation of an entire subset of elementals. 

“Because humans fear what they don’t know. Ready for a little history lesson?” Death asked.

“I guess.” Harry figured that he’d like this lesson a good sight more than he did Binns'. For one, the teacher this time was _Death_. 

“As I was saying before we got onto the topic of Horcruxes, spirit elementals were a secretive lot, but still highly revered. That all changed in 1709, when a fourteen year old spirit elemental named Meredith Wright had a rather violent manifestation. She was from a noble family and a band of nomads looking to make some quick money kidnapped her and held her for ransom. She manifested and all six nomads died in the uncontrollable burst of power that followed. Understandably distraught, she wandered off in search of help and told her story to the first person she came across. Unfortunately, this person was an employee of the ministry and brought her to the Elemental Department. They questioned her and it was discovered that a spirit elemental’s powers do not only confer upon them power over already deceased persons, but over life and death itself. The girl was subsequently killed and the case report was buried. When the Department of Mysteries was formed in 1756, the report was dug up and the Unspeakables decided that such a threat could not be allowed to exist.”

Harry could easily imagine the Ministry coming to such a conclusion. Fudge would have no problem sanctioning whatever means were necessary to get rid of the perceived threat. 

“Since the ability to manifest one element or another usually runs in families, the Unspeakables exterminated any family lines known or suspected of having the ability to produce a spirit elemental. It was fortunate for them that spirit elementals were rare to begin with, so they were able to cover up the deaths as murders or freak accidents and no one looked twice at it. There has not been a known spirit elemental since 1764.” Death looked solemn at that pronouncement. Spirit elementals had always been his favorite, as they often understood more than others the true nature of death and its necessity. 

Harry’s head was reeling at the influx of information. Manifesting as an elemental in modern times was a cause for great celebration and those with the ability were looked up to as leaders. He couldn’t imagine murdering an entire group of people simply because they had an ability, or the power to pass on the ability. 

“Does the current Ministry know of this genocide?” Harry asked. Genocide was really the only word he could think of to describe such a purposeful large scale massacre. 

Death winced and nodded in the affirmative. “The Unspeakables all know, as does the current Minister. The knowledge has been passed down throughout the generations so they can be on the lookout for any spirit elementals manifesting from a line that they might have missed the first time around.”

Harry’s heart sank at that. He could never tell anyone of his manifestation. He knew that Ron and Hermione in particular were expecting him to receive a manifestation like Ron had. He’d woken up on March 1 to see a bright red orb above his palm, just as Fred and George had seen a white one a few years prior. It wasn’t just them, it seemed as if the entire wizarding world was awaiting the news of his manifestation of an element that could help him take down Voldemort. Well, he’d certainly gotten that, but not in a way anyone could have anticipated. 

“Harry, this will mean you’ll have to tell people that you didn’t manifest.” Death’s statement served to break Harry out of his spiral of depression. He nodded in understanding. No one could know. 

“The Reaper I’ll be sending to Hogwarts will know, of course. She’ll set up some times for you to train with her and she’ll have more information on the Horcruxes. I’d also recommend putting a glamour over that lotus as soon as you get to school.” 

“Yes, that’d probably be smart.” Harry murmured in agreement, already making plans to refresh his knowledge of glamours and their applications. 

With that, Death stood up and pulled his robe back on, vanishing the chair he’d been using. After pulling his cowled hood back up, he turned to face Harry. Harry was still looking quite shell-shocked. 

“I know you’re quite reckless, but perhaps this knowledge will help you curb that; you’re immune to the killing curse. I’ve never liked that curse, it essentially cheats death, but you can survive it. You already have once, what’s another time to you?” Death shrugged his shoulders in a strangely human move. 

“Good luck, Harry. I’ll be looking out for you.” Death disappeared as silently as he had arrived, leaving Harry sitting on his bed with his mouth agape. 

_Immune to the killing curse?_ This was one piece of information too far for Harry. He retrieved his wand from where it lay on the floor and shoved it back under his pillow. He clambered back into bed, pulling the covers back up. 

_I’ll figure everything out when I wake up again,_ he decided. He dropped off to sleep with a million thoughts swirling around in his brain. 


	3. Renewed Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The letter that Dumbledore sends to Harry is taken verbatim from the book, aside from a change to the date that Dumbledore is picking Harry up to account for the shift in the timeline. This chapter is also a bit shorter, but it's necessary in order to get into Harry's mindset. Feedback is appreciated!

_July 31, 1996_

Harry awoke with a groan, turning over in his bed to face away from the blinds. The sun had risen to the point where it shone through the blinds at the perfect angle to hit Harry's eyes. He blindly grappled around on the nightstand for his glasses before realizing that he'd never taken them off before falling asleep.

 _No wonder,_ Harry huffed, thinking back over his wide-ranging discussion with Death. It had rattled him enough to forget to remove his glasses. It felt like a dream, that conversation. Like it had been something his subconscious mind made up to screw with himself.

There was one way to be sure. Harry pulled the collar of his shirt out just enough so he could glance down at his skin. Yes, there it was. The silver lotus shone on his skin, stubbornly in the same place where he'd watched it form.

Harry let the collar of the shirt go and relaxed back against his pillow. He was very conflicted about this whole spirit elemental deal. On one hand, it would mean more training and more special things about him that he'd never asked for in the first place. He'd never _asked_ Voldemort to murder his parents, he'd never _asked_ for the wizarding world to place him up on a pedestal one moment and tear him down the next, and he'd certainly never _asked_ to become an extinct elemental.

Harry was well aware of his not-so-concealed bitterness toward the wizarding world at large. He rather thought that the Ministry was in dire need of a complete overhaul and there were so many things wrong with pureblood dogma that he wouldn't even know where to start in correcting it.

On the other hand, Death's manipulations would ensure that Harry actually had a chance of surviving the final confrontation with Voldemort. He couldn't pinpoint the moment when he'd realized that the war would boil down to a fight between him and the Dark Lord. It seemed like the knowledge had always been a heavy weight on his soul, the cloud just over his shoulder that he was scared to look back at. Death's parting words about Harry being able to survive being hit with the killing curse had served to lift some of that darkness off his mind and let a shaft of light back in.

_I never expected to survive the final battle._

It was a relief, finally naming the feeling that had been following Harry around for five years, rearing its ugly head up in moments of mirth and putting its oppressive boot on Harry's back in times of strife.

Harry swung his legs over the side of his bed, rumpling the covers further and gazing around the room. Despite the clutter on the floor, his existence was fairly spartan. He only bought and used what he needed to survive school. He had very few things of sentimental value, anything he wanted to keep safe was kept in his trunk. It was a sobering thought that the entirety of Harry's life could be packed up in one school trunk in a matter of moments. It was almost as if he'd been subconsciously preparing for his short-lived time amongst the living by leaving as small of a mark as he could manage.

 _No longer,_ Harry firmly told himself. Now that he had someone committed to his side, committed to seeing him come through the war alive and relatively intact, he was determined to prove that Death's faith in him was not misplaced.

It wasn't just Death either, there was apparently a Reaper coming to Hogwarts to help him with training and with the Horcruxes. Harry supposed that disposing of Voldemort's tethers to life with the help of a servant of the one being Voldemort fears above all others was a sort of poetic justice.

Actively planning for a future that Harry knew he'd live to see lit a flame in him, a burning fire of passion that would fuel his actions and ignite his rage against a world that had beaten him down for too long. The first step, Harry decided, would be to start applying himself in school. No more skiving off homework to discuss Quidditch with Ron or play Exploding Snap with Dean and Seamus. He'd actually need the knowledge he was learning now. Harry slid off his bed and began clearing up the various objects spread across his room, his open trunk the epicenter of the mess.

He paused, a broken quill dangling in his hand as a thought hit him. Could he have been suicidal all this time and never known it? Casting his mind back over his years at Hogwarts, he could freely admit that there were multiple instances where he had recklessly thrown himself into danger, not caring about the consequences. Not all of that could be explained away by his Gryffindorish tendencies to act first and question later.

Harry supposed the question was moot now. He had every intention to see Voldemort's dead body lying at his feet when all was said and done. What he'd do after, he had no clue. Travel the world? Search for a job? The uncertainty of it all was comforting. He didn't _have_ to figure it all out now, he was only sixteen after all.

He set about cleaning his room with a renewed purpose until he came across a sheet of parchment that had been folded and reopened so many times that it was beginning to fall apart at the creases. He flattened it out once more on his knee and his eyes traced over the familiar words.

_Dear Harry,_

_If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Thursday at eleven p.m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays._

_If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you._

_Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Thursday,_

_I am, yours most sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry had received the letter a week prior. He'd sent off a hastily scribbled _yes_ on a spare piece of parchment and sent it off with the owl that had brought it as requested. He'd thought on and off of the matter of assistance that Dumbledore needed his help with. Far be it from him to give Harry any more information than necessary. Harry was begrudgingly willing to concede that it was prudent, given the risk of mail interception. It stung though, giving Dumbledore even that much.

Ever since he'd learned of the prophecy at the end of the last school year, Harry had become disillusioned with Dumbledore. There was a time when he'd thought the man hung the moon and stars in the sky. Learning that Dumbledore had kept such an important piece of information from him under the pretense of sparing his innocence left him with a bad taste in his mouth. He doubted that he'd ever really been an innocent, growing up the way he had with the Dursleys. Their tender mercies had made sure that Harry arrived at Hogwarts broken down and willing to latch onto the first person who showed a bit of kindness.

Harry snorted mirthlessly. So much for kindness. Dumbledore was perfectly happy to keep all his cards close to his chest, only playing them at the moment that he thought would most benefit him. He treated those around him as mere pawns for him to manipulate at his behest.

Well, now he had more reliable players in the game that were actually on his side. Harry thrust the letter away from his hand, dispassionately watching it flutter to the floor. Dumbledore could go off and play the chessmaster with someone else, he was done bowing to the whims of others.

Harry went over to the window and opened the blinds, watching the sun moving ever upward toward its peak. It felt like the sun was heralding a new beginning for Harry. A new chance to do things right. Harry supposed he had Death to thank for that. He let out a genuine chuckle at the irony; Death being a new beginning.

Harry left the blinds open and went back to his task of cleaning. He wanted to be ready when Dumbledore came to pick him up tomorrow, he didn't want to stay at the Dursleys house a minute longer than necessary. He had things to do and a Dark Lord to kill.


	4. Bees and Slugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will begin sharply diverting from canon in the next few chapters. Please enjoy, and as always, feedback is appreciated! 
> 
> Warning(s): Foul language.

_ August 1, 1996 _

Harry sat on the second-to-last step of the stairwell waiting for Dumbledore’s arrival. His trunk had quickly been packed the previous day and placed off to the side of Harry’s current seat. He’d spent the intervening time tossing a ratty old baseball around and contemplating his plans for the coming school year. 

Death had mentioned that he’d be stationing a Reaper at Hogwarts this year, but Harry couldn’t think of any position that was unstaffed… unless Dumbledore hadn’t yet found a teacher for the Defense position? It seemed unlikely, as there was only a month left before term started, but Harry supposed there weren’t too many candidates lining up for the job. Lupin was the only Defense teacher he’d had that had left in a way that didn’t leave permanent physical or mental damage. He couldn’t speak to the years preceding his arrival, but to hear Oliver tell it, the Defense position had been cursed for as long as anyone could remember. 

He wondered if that curse would hold if a Reaper held the job. You can’t kill someone who’s already dead after all. At least, he assumed Death’s Reapers were dead. There was still so much that confused him about Death, Fate, and the interplay between the two. 

Harry sighed, looking over at the clock mounted on the wall. His questions would have to wait until he met the Reaper in person. Dumbledore’s letter had said eleven and it was already five past. 

Harry’s fingers drummed an irritated pattern on the thigh of his jeans. Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen and Uncle Vernon was in the living room. Both had decided to stay up so they could ensure that he was actually out of the house before they turned in.  _ Good riddance to bad rubbish,  _ Aunt Petunia would say. Dudley had no such compunctions and was snoring away in his bedroom. 

While Harry’s had been wandering, the doorbell gave a sudden chime. Harry leapt up from his perch on the stairwell to answer the door before either of his relatives could. 

“ _ Ouch!  _ Bloody hell.” His right pinky toe was in absolute agony. His foot had caught the corner of his sturdy school trunk and bent in a way that Harry was fairly sure was unnatural. Hedwig gave an amused hoot from inside her cage on top of the trunk, or as amused as an owl could sound anyway. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he limped the rest of the way to the front door and opened it, revealing Dumbledore standing on the front stoop in all his wizardly glory. 

“Ah, Harry! It’s marvelous to see you, dear boy.” Dumbledore exclaimed jovially. 

“You as well, Professor.” Harry returned, backtracking to pick up his trunk and Hedwig’s cage and returned to the doorway with both in hand, well out of reach of any vulnerable toes. 

“I don’t suppose your Aunt and Uncle are available for a quick chat?” Dumbledore inquired, peering around Harry into the entrance hall. “I was hoping to have a word with them.”

“I’m afraid not, Professor. They’re getting ready to turn in.” The elderly wizard had a disappointed mien about him at that response, but brightened up rather quickly. 

“It matters not, we’ve more important things to be getting to tonight.” Dumbledore’s attitude was that of a man on a mission, an attitude that Harry was more than passingly familiar with. Harry dragged his trunk out of the house, closing the door behind him with an air of finality. Hedwig was strangely quiet, no hoots or rustling to be heard. 

“Would you mind terribly if I sent your things ahead to the Burrow? I see no need to encumber you with them on our little detour.”

“That’s fine with me, sir.” Harry set his trunk down fully and settled Hedwig’s cage on top. 

“Before I forget, do you have your Invisibility Cloak on you?” Harry nodded in response and patted the pocket of his jacket where it was currently stashed. He was of the opinion that it was better to carry it around and not have need of it rather than leave it in his trunk and miss an opportunity to use it. Especially if it may save his life. Likewise, his wand was in his back pocket. 

Dumbledore drew his wand and sent a nonverbal spell at the items, causing them to vanish. As he drew his wand, Harry noticed his sleeve slide back toward his elbow, revealing a blackened hand. The skin looked leathery, as if all moisture had been sucked from the hand. Harry decided that discretion was the better part of valour and he kept his mouth shut. If Dumbledore wanted Harry to know about the circumstances that had led to his right hand being so grievously injured, he would have to bring them up. Harry would not give Dumbledore the satisfaction of inquiring about it. 

“Let us be off, Harry.” Dumbledore stashed his wand back on his sleeve and set off down the street, Harry scrambling to keep up with his long strides. 

“Er... sir? Where exactly are we detouring to?” asked Harry. He was eager to get to the Burrow and he wasn’t all that excited to be roped into another one of Dumbledore’s schemes. Merlin knew he’d had his fill over the past five years. 

“I need to have a discussion with an old acquaintance of mine and I feel that it might be best to catch him unawares. He’s been dodging my owls for a while now.” Harry could see Dumbledore’s eyebrows furrowing, as if the man couldn’t comprehend why anyone would want to ignore an owl from him. 

“I - ” Harry got cut off by Dumbledore veering away from the road and entering the park just off of Privet Drive.

“Sir?” Harry asked in confusion. Dumbledore was heading straight for a copse of trees on the edge of the park that had decent canopy cover. Upon entering the woods, Harry saw that no moonlight was visible in the center, nor was the streetlight. 

“There is one small matter that we must attend to before we meet my friend, however.” Dumbledore clasped his hands in front of him. 

“And that would be?” Harry sighed, already sick of Dumbledore’s half-truths and manipulations. 

“Sirius’ will was discovered last week. He left you everything, all the money and properties associated with the Black name.” Harry inhaled sharply, feeling like he’d taken a gut punch. He’d done his best that summer to not dwell on what had happened to Sirius and to everyone else who had fought at the Ministry. The memory was still too fresh and the mental wound was still weeping. Now he finds out that Sirius had left a will?

“I see.” Harry’s voice came out slightly strangled and Dumbledore at least had the grace to look repentant for being the bearer of bad news. “Is there something I’ve got to do for that then?”

“Not in as many words. I’m sure Gringotts would be willing to answer any inheritance questions you might have, but my concern is primarily with the properties you now have control over. Namely, Grimmauld Place.” 

Understanding struck Harry like a bolt of lightning; Dumbledore simply wanted to make sure that his headquarters were okay. 

“Generally, wills act as the final say in who owns what when a deceased person leaves something to a certain person in their will, but sometimes magic can interfere with that. In this case, we don’t know if Grimmauld Place has some unknown inheritance spells on it restricting the magical ownership to a limited number of people. The Order has relocated until we can answer that pressing question as it’s simply not safe to carry on as we have been.” said Dumbledore. 

“Right.” Harry said flatly. What did he care if the Order had lost its headquarters? “How do you expect to verify who owns it?”

In answer, Dumbledore simply jabbed his wand toward the center of the clearing and a house elf appeared with a sharp  _ crack _ . The house elf threw itself onto the ground, beating its tiny fists against the ground and wailing about evil masters. Harry scrutinized the elf through the flailing limbs. The house elf was old, if the white hair and gnarled fingers were anything to go by. The long, hooked nose was extremely distinctive though. 

“Kreacher?” 

At the sound of his name, Kreacher ceased his tantrum just long enough to look up at Harry. Harry hadn’t thought it possible, but Kreacher’s wails grew louder upon recognizing Harry. 

“Kreacher won’t go with the filthy half-blood, no Kreacher won’t! Potter is not worthy of the Black inheritance, Potter won’t have Kreacher!” At the increased volume, Dumbledore erected a silencing ward around the clearing, which freed Harry to shout at Kreacher.

“Kreacher, stop!” The elf’s entire body froze, fists hovering just above the grass and one foot poised to strike the ground. Harry’s eyes widened, he hadn’t expected that. Kreacher was only linked to the Black house…

Merlin, he was stupid. If Sirius had left Harry Grimmauld Place in his will and the house recognized him as his Master, Kreacher would as well. 

Harry decided to seize this opportunity. Having a house elf bound only to him could be useful. “Kreacher, please go back to Grimmauld Place and start cleaning it up. Make sure it’s up to Walburga’s standards.” If Kreacher could get Walburga’s input, he would be more likely to do the job properly. Harry also made a mental note to be clear in his orders with Kreacher; he wouldn’t soon forgive Kreacher’s betrayal of Sirius. 

Kreacher clambered to his feet and shot Harry a deep look of confusion before disappearing. 

“Excellent! Now that we’ve settled that matter, we can go meet Horace.” Dumbledore’s voice held an undercurrent of frustration. Harry assumed that he hadn’t planned for Harry taking charge of the meeting, which only made him gladder that he had. 

Harry took Dumbledore’s proffered arm and the two men disappeared with a  _ crack,  _ leaving nothing behind, save a few disturbed leaves to mark their departure. The silencing wards fell without Dumbledore there to maintain them and Privet Drive was once more free of magic. 

* * *

Harry stumbled away from Dumbledore the minute they appeared on a new residential street and put his hands on his knees, trying to get some air into his lungs. Apparition apparently felt like being stretched out and squeezed through a tube. Harry decided that this didn’t bode well for future Apparition trips. 

“I am sorry, my boy. The first trip is supposedly the worst.” Harry straightened and returned to Dumbledore’s side. He rather thought that wizarding methods of travel left a lot to be desired in the way of comfort. 

“That’s all right. Where are we, sir?” The street they were on had a few houses lining one side and a church on the other. 

“We are in the village of Budleigh Babberton, Harry. I plan to drop by a friend’s house and attempt to convince him to return to Hogwarts as a staff member. He’s been in retirement for some time now.” Dumbledore replied, gesturing for Harry to begin walking. 

“For the Defense position?” It was the only one open and if this person - Harry thought he’d heard Dumbledore mention the name Horace before they left - took it, the Reaper would have a harder time getting access to Hogwarts. 

“No, Horace Slughorn is a Potions Master. He taught at Hogwarts before Professor Snape came along.” Dumbledore indicated a right turn and Harry followed along. 

Harry could hardly contain his glee at the thought of Snape leaving Hogwarts. “What about Sn - Professor Snape?”

“If Horace agrees to return, Professor Snape would be taking on the Defense position.”

Harry very nearly tripped and fell on his face at that news. Snape as the Defense teacher! The thought alone was enough to give children nightmares. 

“Sir, is that really the -” Harry was silenced by Dumbledore raising his non-injured hand and gesturing for Harry to be quiet. Dumbledore pointed at a house that lay off to their left. The house in question appeared to have been broken into as the front door was no longer attached to the house. 

Harry mentally groaned; with his luck that would be the house they were meant to be visiting. Sure enough, Dumbledore strode toward the house, wand peeking out of his sleeve. 

“Wand out, Harry. Defensive magic only.” The tension in the air seemed palpable and Harry drew his wand out from his back pocket. The duo cautiously proceeded to enter the house and a quick  _ Lumos  _ from Dumbledore revealed the scene before them. 

It looked as if an epic fight had taken place. Harry could see deep gouges in the walls of the entrance hall, no doubt from miscast spells. Debris from various knick-knacks littered the floor and a grandfather clock lay on its side, watch face broken. 

Raising his wand higher, Dumbledore walked into the next room of the house, the sitting room from the looks of it. This room had taken more damage than the hall had and dark splashes of blood decorated the furniture and floor. 

Harry felt uneasy. There was something off about this and he didn’t know how to describe it. It was as if his mind was expecting to find something but his body was telling him that it wasn’t there. 

He felt his lotus tattoo heat up, as if confirming his thoughts. 

_ Fuck. It’s probably something to do with the spirit powers.  _ Harry knew there was no way he could successfully hide anything from Dumbledore if his powers decided to screw around with him again. 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts and tearing his gaze away from a bloodstain that looked particularly like a hippogriff, Harry looked up, only to find Dumbledore examining an old armchair in great detail. 

_ Has he finally cracked? _

“Clever, quite clever.” The elderly wizard hummed. “An admirable effort, Horace.” Dumbledore patted the arm of the chair and Harry’s jaw dropped as the chair began morphing into the shape of a portly man. 

“Blast it all, Albus!” The armchair-turned-man stood up to his full height and adjusted his robes. 

“Impressive transfiguration to be sure, Minerva would be most proud. You missed your pinky toe though.” Dumbledore gestured to the man’s foot.

“Yes, well, we can’t all be bloody prodigies,” the man grumbled, taking out his wand and beginning to set the room back to rights. “What do you want, Albus?”

“What, I can’t simply call upon a dear friend for a chat?”

“Not at ten ‘till midnight! One would think you’d have more sense, and they’d be wrong.” His long-suffering tone spoke of a man well used to how the great Albus Dumbledore worked. 

“I came to ask a favor of you, and to introduce you to a student of mine,” Dumbledore gestured for Harry to come further into the room. “Horace, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Horace Slughorn, former Potions Professor at Hogwarts. Current Professor too, if I get my way.”

Slughorn’s eyes lit up at Harry’s name and his eyes performed the traditional flick up to Harry’s hairline. 

“Harry Potter, is it? Nice to meet you, lad.” Harry shook the offered hand and Slughorn turned back to Dumbledore. 

“Do you not know the meaning of retirement, Albus? I’ve no desire to return to Hogwarts!” Slughorn fixed a beady eyed glare on Dumbledore that would have caused a lesser man to flinch away. 

“Come now, you won’t humour an old man?”

“Old man, my arse.” Slughorn grumbled, sitting down on the newly repaired sofa and indicating that Dumbledore and Harry could take the two recliners opposite it. Harry did so, wondering why he was here. Surely Dumbledore could have had this argument in the morning, at much more reasonable hour. 

“Surely you’d prefer to be at Hogwarts rather than running around from house to house?” Dumbledore asked. Startled, Harry examined the room, noticing very little in the way of personal effects. There were some obviously magical knick-knacks lying on the coffee table and there was a cluster of moving photographs sitting on top of the piano, but the rest of the room was distinctly Muggle. 

“It works, doesn’t it? The Death Eaters haven’t caught up to me yet, have they?” Slughorn looked proud at that. 

“Yet, Horace. You’ll find that they won’t give up quite so easily.” His tone was heavy, that of a man who has seen far too much. 

“Be that as it may, my answer is still no. I had a good run of it, Severus is more than capable of remaining as Potions Master - unless he’s unavailable?” Slughorn inquired shrewdly. 

“No, no, I had meant to ask Severus to take on the Defense position… oh well.” Dumbledore stood up from his seat, Slughorn rising with him. 

“What, that’s it? Are you leaving?” Slughorn somehow sounded happy and disappointed at the same time, his eyes briefly flicking over to Harry before refocusing on Dumbledore. Harry got the feeling that Slughorn had been hoping to interrogate him. 

“Ah, I was merely hoping to use your loo?” Slughorn’s face fell and he pointed to the side hallway, telling Dumbledore to use the first door on the left. 

Once Dumbledore had left in a swirl of robes, Slughorn’s full attention settled on Harry. 

“The spitting image of your father, did you know? But with your mother’s-”

“Eyes, I know.” Harry had lost track of the number of times he’d been told that. 

“Did you teach my parents, sir? Harry asked, interested despite himself.

“None of this  _ sir  _ business, I’m not a teacher anymore, after all! Call me Sluggy, or Horace if you prefer.” Slughorn waved it off jovially. Harry wrinkled his nose, standing up to join Slughorn. The height difference had bothered him. 

The air of familiarity that Slughorn wanted to create bothered Harry; it was reminiscent of someone trying to worm their way into Harry’s good graces. Unfortunately for Slughorn, he hadn’t made the best first impression. 

Slughorn seemed to realize that, hastening to fix it. “I taught both James and Lily, though Lily had more of a talent for Potions.” He strode over to the collection of pictures, pointing to one in particular. Harry followed, recognizing his mother from the pictures in his photo album. Her long red hair was tied back and she was standing behind a bubbling cauldron, grinning at the camera. 

“These are all former students,” Slughorn said, indicating the group of pictures. “There’s Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies, and Ambrosius Flume, the Honeydukes proprietor. Oh, and that’s Barnabus Cuffe, the editor of the  _ Prophet  _ of course.” Slughorn continued to ramble on, listing off names and occupations. Every single one was someone of importance, someone who wielded some measure of influence. Harry knew his type, someone who cultivated connections and used them to his own benefit, riding the coattails of others’ successes. 

_ More manipulation,  _ he thought bitterly. He’d bet all the Galleons in his trust vault that Dumbledore had brought him here as a lure, an enticement to try and get Slughorn to accept the job. Well, he’d simply have to fix that. 

“You know, sir, I really admire you standing up to Headmaster Dumbledore. He’s not an easy man to disagree with.”

“Eh, you do?” Slughorn had been winding down on his recitation of names and seemed startled to hear Harry’s voice again. 

“Oh yes, I’ve not seen many do that.” Harry might’ve been laying it on a bit thick, but it was worth it to see Slughorn’s countenance turn thoughtful. As luck would have it, that was the moment that Dumbledore chose to return. 

“Come along, Harry. We’ve got to get to the Burrow; I daresay Molly is eager to stuff you full of food.” Harry turned his back on Slughorn, picking his way across the room to join Dumbledore. Once at the doorway, Harry looked back at Slughorn, who was looking a bit lost. 

“I apologize for dropping in so unexpectedly, Horace. I do hope you’ll reconsider.” With that, Dumbledore swept back out into the entrance hall with both Harry and Slughorn following him. Slughorn shot a  _ Reparo  _ at the grandfather clock as they passed it. It now read as past midnight. Dumbledore stepped out onto the front stoop, waiting for Harry to join him. 

“I wouldn’t hold your breath, Albus.” Slughorn shot back. 

Harry stepped out into the cold night air, shivering a bit in his light jacket. He made sure that his wand and cloak were where they should be before looking up at Slughorn. Harry offered his hand to Slughorn. 

“It was nice to meet you, sir.” Slughorn took his hand and shook it, giving Harry a genuine smile. 

“You as well, lad.”

Both men missed Dumbledore’s brief glare before they broke the handshake. 

“Very well. Goodbye, Horace. Harry, let’s go.” Dumbledore bit out, already walking on the path that led to the sidewalk. Harry followed, looking back over his shoulder at the house. Slughorn had repaired the front door, concealing him and the interior of the house from sight. 

Harry stepped onto the sidewalk and Dumbledore silently held out his arm. Harry took it and the two men disappeared from a street for the second time that night. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Disagreements

_ August 2, 1996 _

Harry had never been more glad to see the Burrow. He quickly stepped away from Dumbledore and began walking towards the front door. The lights were all off, save for one in the kitchen. Harry assumed that it was either Mrs. Weasley puttering around or one of her children looking for a nighttime snack. 

“Harry, my boy, I wonder if we could have a quick chat before I turn you over to Molly?” called Dumbledore. Harry paused mid-stride, bemoaning his luck. He wheeled around to see Dumbledore indicating the little shed off in the side yard. 

Harry had never had reason to enter the shed in all the times he’d stayed with the Weasleys. He knew that spare brooms were kept there and that Mr. Weasley would sometimes store his various experiments on Muggle objects in the shed as well. He followed the sweeping hem of Dumbledore’s cloak to the rickety entrance, almost afraid to touch the handle. The entire structure looked likely to blow over in a strong wind. 

Once inside, Dumbledore lit up the tip of his wand with a silent  _ Lumos  _ and pinned Harry with a hard stare. Harry had to resist the urge to fidget, somehow feeling as if he’d done something wrong. Well, he reflected, he was keeping a massive secret from the wizarding world at large but that hardly qualified as something  _ wrong  _ in his view. 

“I confess myself curious, Harry. Your birthday was several days ago - happy belated birthday by the way,” Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement, “and you’ve yet to mention an inheritance.”

Harry scrambled to come up with an answer that Dumbledore would accept. The most obvious one would be that he hadn’t manifested at all, but then Dumbledore might ask to see the spot where his lotus tattoo was.  _ No, surely not _ , he thought, eyeing Dumbledore’s steel gaze.  _ That’s pushing the bounds of propriety.  _

“Er, I suppose I’ve been a bit distracted tonight, sir. I didn’t mention anything about my manifestation because I didn’t get one.” The only indication of surprise that Dumbledore gave was a raised eyebrow. 

“You’re sure?” Harry just gave the Headmaster a deadpan look. 

“I meant no offence of course, a manifestation is rather hard to miss after all,” the man gave a forced-sounding chuckle, “I’m merely surprised, James was a fairly talented air elemental and your grandmother, Euphemia…” Here he trailed off, seemingly lost in memories. “She was a hellion with her fire! Fleamont didn’t manifest, so I would assume James got his air talent from someone more distant in their family tree.”

Harry was shocked, he’d never known anything about his grandparents, not even their names! He’d known about James though, Sirius had gone on and on about how thrilled James had been to be an elemental and how he’d used his talent to make their pranks even more successful. 

Harry’s heart clenched at the inadvertent reminder of Sirius. He had spent countless sleepless nights playing back the battle in his mind and wondering if he could have changed anything. From the minute the six of them had arrived at the Ministry, things were out of his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to regret going in the first place, though. As far as he had known, Sirius was being tortured and Kreacher had confirmed it. There was no way he could have convinced himself to stay at Hogwarts. 

Coming to that realization had lifted some of the guilt he’d felt after that night. He still missed Sirius, he always would, but the ache wasn’t as soul-deep as it had been before. 

“I wasn’t aware of that, Professor.”

Dumbledore waved off the comment with an air of nonchalance. “It’s no matter, these things never like to play by the rules.”

Harry simply nodded at that, what else could he say?

“On the whole, Harry, I’m pleasantly surprised at how well you seem to be taking all of this. I know Sirius was dear to you, and then finding out that you didn’t manifest on top of that? Lesser men wouldn’t be coping as well.” Dumbledore’s face was the very picture of sympathy. 

“Honestly? I’m not all that surprised. This is perfectly in line with my luck over the past few years.” The quip relieved some of the tension that had been building and both men let out a short laugh. 

“Good, very good. I also wanted to ask you for your thoughts on the prophecy. Have you told anyone of the true contents?”

“No, sir.”

“That is commendable caution, but I believe you would be well served by telling Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Granger-”

“With all due respect, Professor, I don’t think I’ll be telling anybody. It’s not their business.” 

The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to dim at this pronouncement. 

“Be that as it may, your friends could be a great support for you on this journey.” When Harry merely shook his head in response, the twinkle went out fully. 

“Very well. The last thing I wanted to tell you is that I’ve arranged for us to have some private lessons together during the school year.” Harry snapped his head up from where he’d dropped it to observe a dirt spot on his trainers that looked eerily like Snuffles. 

“Lessons? With you?” Harry was excited at the prospect but also skeptical of the timing. Dumbledore had known since his first year of the prophecy and his destiny, why only start training him now? 

“Indeed. I have some information that I feel it is time to pass on.” The damnable twinkle was back and Harry suddenly had the strongest desire to curse Dumbledore just to see it wither away. Information? That was hardly specific. Was it information on battle strategies, on fighting techniques, on other subjects not taught at Hogwarts?

“I look forward to it.” Harry ground out from between his teeth. 

“Excellent! Let’s get you into the house, I’m sure Molly is eager to see you.” 

With that, Dumbledore extinguished the  _ Lumos  _ and stepped out of the shed. Harry followed, wrapping his jacket tighter around his body. The light in the kitchen was still on. Dumbledore rapped three times on the front door and waited. 

“Who is it?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice was recognizable at once. 

“Albus Dumbledore, with Harry.”

“Oh, hang on one moment Albus.” Rapid footsteps could be heard followed by the disengaging of multiple locks and the front door swung open at last, revealing Mrs. Weasley. 

“Harry, dear! Come in, come in, it’s so lovely to see you,” said Mrs. Weasley, waving Harry inside. “Would you like to come in as well, Albus?”

“I’m afraid not, it’s late and there’s still much to do,” he refused. With a parting smile, he walked back off across the lawn and Disapparated with a sharp  _ crack _ . Mrs. Weasley closed the door and turned to examine Harry closer. 

“You’re looking a bit peaky dear, would you like a bit of toast before heading upstairs?”

“I’d love some toast, thank you,” said Harry gratefully, taking a seat at the kitchen table. 

“It’s not a problem, I always fix up some toast for Arthur after his shifts too,” she said, bustling around the kitchen. “Ever since his promotion he’s been coming home quite late.”

“Mr. Weasley got promoted?” Harry asked. He was thrilled, he knew that Mr. Weasley was very hard-working and his family certainly deserved the extra money. 

“Yes, he’s now the head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.” 

Harry privately thought that that sounded like an unnecessary mouthful, probably on purpose in the Ministry’s attempt to make it sound more important than it was. 

“That’s wonderful!”

Mrs. Weasley turned and beamed at Harry. “Thank you, Harry. He’s very pleased with his new job. It keeps him busy of course, chasing down false amulets and purported protective devices, but he’s enjoying himself.”

Just then the door swung open, admitting a harassed looking Mr. Weasley. His hair was mussed and his tie was askew. Mrs. Weasley placed a plate of toast in front of Harry and hurried to welcome her husband. Harry let himself look around the kitchen, finding the clock with each member of the Weasley family on it. Each hand was pointing to mortal peril. He supposed that was true, with Voldemort openly back, every wizard in Britain was in danger. The regular clock that sat next to the family clock read as one-thirty in the morning; an ungodly hour if Harry had ever seen one. 

“Arthur!” The man in question gave a tired grin and kissed his wife, loosening his tie and kicking off his shoes to the side of the door. He glanced around and his eyes fell on Harry, who had just taken his first bite of toast. 

“Hello, Harry, it’s lovely to see you.” Mr. Weasley clapped Harry on the shoulder and sank into the seat next to him. “I wouldn’t mind some toast as well, Molly.”

The two men shared a grin as Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes fondly and went back to the counter. 

“How’ve you been, Harry? How did your manifestation go?” asked Mr. Weasley. He leaned forward in his seat, eager to hear Harry’s answer. 

Harry nearly choked on his toast and coughed a few times to clear his throat. Merlin, was everyone expecting him to have manifested?  _ Well, they aren’t wrong,  _ he thought wryly. He didn’t mind lying, not really. It was easier than telling people about something that he didn’t quite understand himself.

“Oh, I didn’t manifest, actually.” Harry said casually. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a startled glance at that. 

“Really? Albus seemed to think it was a sure thing,” commented Mrs. Weasley.

“Dumbledore’s been wrong before.” Harry shrugged. There was nothing either of the Weasleys could think to say to that and Harry continued to eat his toast in silence. Mrs. Weasley passed another plate of toast to Mr. Weasley and joined them at the kitchen table. Once Harry had cleared his plate, he stood and pushed his chair in. His day - or night, really, - had been exhausting and he was about ready to collapse. 

“You look dead on your feet, Harry. You’re in Fred and George’s room this time around; they’ve got their own little flat above their shop.” Mrs. Weasley smiled kindly and gestured for Harry to go on upstairs. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. Good night.” 

The two elder Weasleys responded in kind and Harry made his way up to the second floor where he knew Fred and George’s bedroom to be. The door was painted an eye-watering shade of magenta with a bright orange W emblazoned in the center. 

Harry choked out a laugh, imagining Mrs. Weasley’s reaction when she laid eyes on the twins’ handiwork for the first time. Trust Fred and George to pick two colors that clashed in such a violent way. 

He carefully pushed the creaky door open and laid his eyes on utter chaos. There were numerous boxes scattered around the floor with various products stuffed in them. Harry recognized a few Extendable Ears and Skiving Snackboxes among the lot. 

His trunk and Hedwig’s cage sat underneath the window with Hedwig herself preening atop a bedpost. She hooted at him in greeting and Harry gave her a fond smile. He crossed over to the window, nudging his trunk out of the way, and undid the latch on the window. He pushed the window out and stood back to watch Hedwig gracefully swoop out into the night. 

Leaving the window open for her return, Harry opened his trunk and dug around for a pair of pajamas. He quickly changed and unceremoniously fell onto the nearest bed, throwing his glasses on the nightstand and slipping into sleep almost instantly. 

* * *

Harry was woken by a red-headed blur bouncing on the bed. 

“Harry, mate! I was beginning to think Dumbledore had kidnapped you!”

Harry groaned, not awake enough to deal with a hyper Ron Weasley. Jamming his glasses on revealed a grinning Ron and a reproachful looking Hermione standing next to his bed. 

“Morning, guys. What’s going on?” asked Harry. 

“Not much. It’s been pretty quiet ‘round here, but what about you? Going off with Dumbledore must’ve been fun!” Ron babbled. Harry pulled himself up to rest against the headboard and wondered how much of the previous night’s events he should relate to them. 

“It wasn’t all that entertaining, really. He stopped by an old friend’s house to chat and then we came straight here,” shrugged Harry. It was true in the strictest sense of the word. 

Ron seemed to deflate and looked over at Hermione as if asking for what to say next. 

“Did he mention anything about… you know,  _ the prophecy _ ?” she asked. There it was. Harry hadn’t expected to be questioned about it so quickly, but Hermione’s curiosity knew no bounds nor propriety. 

“There’s not much to mention about it, it got smashed at the battle, remember?” said Harry. 

“Yeah, but come on, it’s  _ Dumbledore _ . He’s got to know something!” Ron urged. 

“He doesn’t seem to be in the habit of sharing important information with me, though.” Harry said bitterly. Ron and Hermione both shared a nervous glance and looked back at Harry. 

“He did mention something about having private lessons with him this year,” he threw out in an attempt to placate them. It seemed to mollify Ron but Hermione’s jaw dropped and two spots of color rose in her cheeks. 

A knock sounded on the door and Mrs. Weasley entered the room bearing a breakfast tray. Harry’s stomach rumbled of its own volition and he and Ron gave a tense laugh. 

“You slept through breakfast, I thought you might like some food to tide you over until lunch.” Mrs. Weasley gave him a warm smile and carefully passed the tray over to his hands. 

“Thank you.” Harry returned the smile and Mrs. Weasley backed out of the room, perhaps sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere. The door clicked shut and the trio was left alone once more. Harry awkwardly ate some of the eggs while he waited for someone else to speak. 

“What - but - I…” Hermione squeaked, “private lessons?” She looked absolutely stunned, as if she’d been brained with a Beater’s bat. 

“Yeah?” Harry said cautiously. 

“That - that’s absurd!” sputtered Hermione. “Why just you? If anything, he should be offering them to everyone who fought at the Ministry!”

Harry was blindsided; he’d thought that Hermione would be happy that he was getting some extra training at last, but it sounded like she was just unhappy that she wasn’t privy to the same information that he was. 

“Yeah, well, you’re not the one Voldemort is after, are you?” Harry snapped. Rage was rising in his chest at the - as he saw it - betrayal. He picked up his half-eaten breakfast and left the room, letting the door close on a gaping Ron and a fuming Hermione. 

Some time apart would do them all good. He intended to finish his breakfast in the sanctuary of the kitchen. At least there, no one would attack him for something out of his control. 


	6. Planning for the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I've no clue why, but this chapter simply didn't want to be written. Please let me know your thoughts! Does it suck? I feel like I could've done better but I just wanted to get this chapter done. The good stuff is coming up in the next few chapters.

_ August 2, 1996 _

Harry was in a foul mood as he descended the stairs, still holding his half-eaten breakfast. Hermione simply didn’t know when to stop and shut her mouth. She would doggedly pursue any scrap of information that anyone was willing to part with and when they did, she still wasn’t satisfied. Harry sometimes thought that even if Hermione became Minister, she still wouldn’t be happy. 

The issue was that no one ever stood up to her. They let her run over them with her words, berating them into submission. She was headstrong, certainly, and that was a good character trait to have. Even good things must be taken in moderation though. 

Harry propped the breakfast tray against his hip and ran his hand along the wooden banister that ran the length of the stairwell. Did he regret just blurting things out? Sure, but Hermione would have found out eventually. It was highly hypocritical of her to be jealous of someone getting private lessons because a madman was gunning to kill them in his opinion. 

Harry entered the kitchen and saw Mrs. Weasley doing the dishes in the sink, her back turned to Harry. He set the tray down on the kitchen table and Mrs. Weasley startled at the sound, turning around to see Harry sheepishly taking a seat. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” She asked. 

“Nothing, Mrs. Weasley, I just had a small disagreement with Ron and Hermione.” Harry shrugged and continued to eat the rest of his breakfast. 

Mrs. Weasley shook her head, wisps of red hair escaping from her bun. It made her look like she had a halo when the sun shone through the window and hit her head just right. “I’m sorry. Ron is pretty obstinate, isn’t he?” She gave him a smile in commiseration; she’d raised him for the past sixteen years after all. 

“I’ve kind of gotten used to it.” Harry laughed. 

She clucked her tongue disapprovingly and finished the last dish, putting it away and joining Harry at the table. “Never mind Ron, dear. How has your summer been?” 

“Fairly boring, actually.” That wasn’t even a lie, the exciting stuff hadn’t started happening until his birthday a few days ago. 

As if thinking about it had reminded Mrs. Weasley of it, she straightened up with an “Oh!” and pulled her wand out from the pocket of her apron, summoning a brightly wrapped package out from another room in the house. She deftly caught the bright red box before it hit her in the head and presented it to Harry. 

“Almost forgot about this. Here you are, Harry. Happy birthday!”

Harry pulled the package closer to him, pushing his now empty breakfast tray out of the way. The box was decorated with a shining gold bow, no doubt a less than subtle reference to his House. 

Harry tugged on the ribbon and it delicately fell off the package, leaving a seam of wrapping paper for Harry to pull on. He did so and revealed a box with the Quality Quidditch Supplies store’s logo emblazoned on each side. 

He opened the box and pulled out a very nice looking pair of Quidditch gloves that were made out of supple black leather. Harry delightedly examined the gloves, noting the raised designs on the center of the palm that would provide Harry with a better grip on the Snitch - providing he caught it. 

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Weasley!” 

“It was no problem, dear. We knew you were due for a new pair soon with the way you wear them down.” Mrs. Weasley gave Harry a fond smile and rose from the table, collecting his breakfast tray and carrying it over to the sink. 

The stairwell creaked above his head and Harry half-hoped it wasn’t Ron and Hermione. He resolutely kept his head turned away from the doorway, fully aware that he was acting slightly childish, but there were only so many times either of them could put their foot in their mouth without Harry getting mad.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron sitting down next to him and Hermione circled around the table to sit across from them. 

“Mate,” said Ron, “We’re sorry.” The tips of his ears were bright red, belying his embarrassment despite his cool demeanor. Hermione was no better; two red spots remained on her cheeks. 

“No,  _ I’m  _ sorry.” Hermione corrected. “I was out of line.”

To Harry, it sounded like Hermione had been given a thorough talking-to by Ron - quite the reversal of roles - and was either properly contrite or was simply going through the motions. Whatever her motive, Harry decided to leave it alone. He didn’t much fancy spending the next month fighting with his best friends.

“It’s all right, let’s just forget about it.” He conceded. Ron nodded rapidly and Hermione took that as a cue to start rambling about O.W.L. scores. 

The trio spent the next half-hour chatting about this and that. Harry was dimly aware of Mrs. Weasley leaving the kitchen at some point; he was too caught up in the sheer normality of listening to Ron complain about school and Hermione in turn nagging Ron about caring. 

A sharp rap on the window above the sink caused all three to turn their heads toward the source of the noise. Four owls were hovering outside, causing Hermione to jump up and rush to open the window. 

“Oh, these are probably our school supply lists!” She gasped.

The parliament of owls flew into the house and perched on the backs of the kitchen chairs. There was a bit of confusion when the trio tried to find their respective owls but a few minutes later, each student held an envelope in their hands. The ruckus had summoned Mrs. Weasley back into the kitchen and she had Ginny’s letter. 

“Ginny!” Ron’s bellow caused all four owls to startle and take flight, swooping back out the open window. 

“Ronald!” Ginny’s answering yell echoed down the stairwell and soon after, an irritated Ginny Weasley stormed into the room. 

“Heh, booklists are here?” Ron feebly waved his letter in answer to Ginny’s glare. Mrs. Weasley gave Ginny her letter and settled down at the table to await the news. 

Hermione huffed at their antics and tore into her own letter. Harry looked down at his; it looked and felt a bit bulkier than usual. He eased his finger along the seal and popped it open. A gleaming Quidditch Captain’s badge tumbled out onto Harry’s palm and he gaped at it in shock. 

“Katie’s been on the team just as long as I have!” He cried. Everyone else looked up at that, Ron whooping in glee once he caught sight of the badge. 

“Harry, that’s brilliant!” Harry barely had time to register the stylized Gryffindor lion decorating the red background before Ron snatched the badge out of his hand. “I haven’t held one of these since Charlie was Captain!”

Harry honestly hadn’t given a single thought to who would be Captain of the Gryffindor team this year. Angelina had graduated last year along with Alicia, George, and Fred. Although “graduated” might be stretching it for the twins, Harry supposed. 

Did he even want to be Captain? If you had asked Harry a week ago, he would have given a resounding yes, but now? He would be starting N.E.W.T. classes, having private lessons with Dumbledore - probably lessons with the Reaper too - and dealing with whatever shit came with being a spirit elemental, not to mention the bloody Horcruxes. He simply wasn’t sure if he wanted to add Captaining the Gryffindor team to that already heavy load. 

“Hold up, Ron.” Harry cautioned, taking his badge back. “I’m not sure if I’ll be accepting the position.”

Ron’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened, looking for all the world like he had just taken a Pepper-Up potion. Harry was sure that steam would be coming out of his ears any second now. 

“Not… taking the position?” squeaked Ron. “Mate, you’ve got to! Imagine how cool it would be to shove this in Malfoy’s face. You can use the Prefect’s bathroom too!”

“As nice as bathing in a swimming pool would be, I’ve already got a lot to be getting on with. Extra lessons and all. I’ll still play, I just won’t be Captain.” 

“Manifestation lessons?” Hermione asked. Ron’s jaw finally snapped shut and he looked at Harry with questioning eyes. Both had forgotten to ask Harry about his manifestation after all the morning chaos. 

“No, the lessons with Dumbledore I told you about. I didn’t manifest.” Harry sighed, knowing that he’d have to go through a dozen more explanations before it got around the whole school that Harry Potter wasn’t an elemental. 

“Come on mate, you can’t leave me alone with McGonagall!” Ron groaned. McGonagall was the faculty supervisor for the students with a fire manifestation. Rumour had it that she was just as tough in her element lessons as she was in Transfiguration. 

“There’s four other elements I could’ve had.” Harry pointed out. Ron just grumbled and waved the comment away. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry.” Hermione sympathized. As a Muggleborn, she had been less likely to manifest and sure enough, the morning of her sixteenth birthday had been completely uneventful. 

“It’s not a big deal.” Harry shrugged. 

“Well… right.” Hermione didn’t seem to know what to make of Harry’s easy acceptance of his situation and ducked her head back down to examine the parchment in her hands. 

Harry turned his attention to the two folded pieces of parchment that were still in the envelope. He set the badge down on the table and pulled the first one out. Unfolding it, Harry caught sight of the headline proclaiming it to be the  Ordinary Wizarding Level Results.

**_Ordinary Wizarding Level Results_ **

**_Harry James Potter has achieved:_ **

_ Astronomy: A _

_ Care of Magical Creatures: E _

_ Charms: E _

_ Defense Against the Dark Arts: O+ _

_ Divination: P _

_ Herbology: E _

_ History of Magic: D- _

_ Potions: E+ _

_ Transfiguration: E _

All in all, Harry was quite pleased with his scores. He had been expecting the failing score in History of Magic, considering that he’d collapsed in the middle of the exam. Divination was also not a surprise, Harry was willing to bet that only kids with true talent in Divination passed the O.W.L. 

The one point of contention for him was his Potions score. He knew that Snape only allowed O students into his N.E.W.T class and his score was borderline. A Potions N.E.W.T score was required for just about every job he’d considered - aside from Professional Quidditch - even if he didn’t want to be an Auror any more. 

Harry highly doubted that Snape would allow him into his class if he directly asked. He didn’t want to go to Dumbledore either, the man would probably strong-arm Snape into letting Harry take Potions and Snape didn’t need any more reasons to hate Harry. Perhaps McGonagall? He would have to write to her anyway to turn down the Captaincy. 

Harry took a quick glance at the second sheet of parchment, confirming that it was just the supply list. An arm was suddenly slung around Harry’s shoulders and a freckled hand yanked the parchment with his O.W.L. scores away. 

“Good job, Harry!” Ron said approvingly. “Bad luck about Potions though, I got an E too.”

“Mhm,” said Harry distractedly, now looking at the supply list. He was already planning out his letter to McGonagall in his head. 

Ron shoved the stolen parchment back into Harry’s hands and wandered off to bug Hermione. Harry didn’t stick around to hear anything about her scores, he’d be very surprised if she got anything below an E. He plucked the Quidditch Captain badge back off the table and retreated to Fred and George’s bedroom. 

He got a happy hoot from Hedwig in greeting when he stepped into the room, she had evidently returned in the time he’d been downstairs. Harry grinned and gave her a few pets before dropping to the floor in front of his trunk. He undid the latch and lifted the lid, grimacing at the mess. He hadn’t packed it all that neatly in the first place and he hadn’t taken the time to look at it last night; it was somehow worse in the light of day. 

He found a decently sized sheet of spare parchment and dug out an unbroken quill. A half-full ink pot was located in the far right corner behind a tangle of ties. Harry used an old Herbology textbook balanced on his knee as a makeshift desk and began to write:

_ Professor McGonagall, _

_ I hope this letter finds you well. As you no doubt have noticed, I have enclosed the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain’s badge in the envelope. While I appreciate the offer, I don’t feel that I can devote enough of my attention to being Captain this year. Might I suggest appointing Katie Bell to the position instead? She has been on the team for the same amount of time that I have and she is a very dedicated player.  _

_ As to another matter, I received my O.W.L. results today and noticed that my Potions score was an E+. I realize that Professor Snape only accepts O students into his N.E.W.T. classes but I was wondering if an E+ is close enough to an O for him to accept me into his class. There is no love lost between the two of us, but I promise I would not antagonize him nor turn in any sub-par work if Professor Snape sees fit to grant me this opportunity. I am aware that this is likely a futile request, but Potions is a necessary class to take if I want to be considered for any job I’m interested in.  _

_ Regards, _

_ Harry Potter _

Harry read over the finished letter once more to make sure he was satisfied with it. Concluding that it was all right, he folded up the parchment and slid it into an envelope along with the Captain’s badge. He sealed the flap with a blob of wax and let it cool. 

Once the wax was cool, Harry scrawled Professor McGonagall’s name on the outside of the envelope and stood up. Hedwig was already perched on top of her cage, ready to deliver a letter. 

“Take this to Professor McGonagall, girl.” Harry let Hedwig grasp the letter in her talons and she nipped at his hair before flying out the open window. Harry watched her until she disappeared from view and sighed before returning to the kitchen. 


	7. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I incapable of keeping a consistent update schedule? If someone finds out, please let me know. I've decided to start writing ahead in hopes of getting on a more regular schedule, so my next update should be on the eighth. I'm aiming to release a new chapter every three days. We'll see how that works out.

_ August 3, 1996 _

The following 24 hours were fraught with tension between the Golden Trio. Harry was burying himself in his school books and Ron was rather hacked off at Harry’s newfound study habits. Hermione, while outwardly excited about Harry’s attitude, could be seen covertly glaring at Harry when she thought no one would notice. 

Hedwig had returned without an answer from McGonagall and Harry was on tenterhooks waiting for a reply.  _ Maybe she’s talking with Snape now?  _ Harry wasn’t holding out much hope on Snape finding some decency buried in his blackened soul. 

He was currently ensconced in his - for the next three weeks at least - bedroom with various books spread out haphazardly across the floor. He was currently reviewing his Potions textbook on Fred’s bed. He’d discovered that it was Fred’s because of a F he had found etched on one of the bedposts. It could have been George’s doing too, Merlin knows that’s just the sort of thing the twins would do. Harry absentmindedly turned a page, his mind wandering back to Snape. 

_ Should I write to him?  _ Harry gave a bitter laugh at that errant thought. Snape would sooner chuck his letter in the fire than open it.  _ It’s not worth it.  _

Harry shook his head a few times, as if he could physically get rid of the unwanted thoughts clouding his mind. McGonagall would get back to him eventually, and in the meantime he would have to content himself with studying. He expected to have to buy a new Potions textbook this year - if he was accepted into the class - since no new one had been assigned since first year. As such, Harry wanted to take one last look through the old one, admittedly in part because he hadn’t cracked it open very often. He looked down at the page he had stopped on. 

_ “The Strengthening Solution is one that grants the drinker immense strength. The brewing of this potion is somewhat difficult and requires some technical skill. The general theory of how this potion works and its effect on the body should be reviewed before any attempts to brew it are made. If a review is needed, please refer to Chapter 2, page 37.  _

_ Common mistakes students make when brewing the Strengthening Solution are mostly errors with their ingredient preparation - specifically the Griffin’s claw. The claw must be finely powdered before being added to the cauldron. Many students merely reduce the claw to a granulated texture, which causes the claw to melt slower than it should and reduces the efficacy of the final product.  _

_ One must also be aware of which ingredients they are adding to the potion. Salamander blood is an essential ingredient in the Strengthening Solution while pomegranate juice is not, yet they look remarkably similar. Always double check ingredient labels before…” _

A loud hoot cut through the silence and Harry nearly dropped his textbook in surprise. A soot grey owl was hovering outside of the closed window, a letter tied to its left leg. Harry hastened to let the owl in, quickly undoing the latches. 

The owl soared into the room and came to a stop on Hedwig’s perch, causing Hedwig to grudgingly shuffle over to make room for the newcomer. Harry removed the owl of its burden, giving it an owl treat from the bag he kept on the dresser before settling back on the bed to read the letter. 

Harry recognized the crisp, clean handwriting of his Head of House at once.  _ Speak of the devil,  _ he thought amusedly. There was only a single sheet of parchment inside the envelope. 

_ Mr. Potter, _

_ I confess myself disappointed that you have turned down the Captaincy, but am relieved that you will remain on the team. I have no intention of relinquishing the Quidditch Cup to anyone else. Miss. Bell will be an excellent alternative and I have already sent her a letter informing her of the circumstances.  _

_ I have taken your request regarding N.E.W.T. Potions to Headmaster Dumbledore and he has assured me that Professor Snape will be amenable towards accepting you into his sixth year class. The textbook Professor Snape has assigned to his N.E.W.T. class is  _ Advanced Potion-Making  _ by Libatius Borage.  _

_ I look forward to seeing you back at Hogwarts. Please attempt to stay out of trouble until Halloween at the very least.  _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Minerva McGonagall _

Harry couldn’t help but snicker at McGonagall’s parting remark; he hadn’t even managed to stay out of trouble for the summer. 

The comment about Dumbledore convincing Snape to teach Harry this year worried him though, why would Dumbledore intervene for him? Sure, Harry’s Potions O.W.L. was probably enough for a normal teacher to let him into their class, but Snape was no normal teacher. Harry would bet the entire contents of his trust vault that Snape would only accept Harry’s attendance under extreme duress. 

_ Which Dumbledore holds, of course,  _ he mused. Whatever the cause, Harry was happy that he’d gotten the end result he’d been aiming for.

Harry found his supply list on the nightstand and wrote in the textbook that McGonagall had told him to get. He was inordinately pleased with himself, perhaps inappropriately so considering that it would still be Snape teaching the class. 

He was just happy that he’d taken the initiative and done something for himself. It seemed like for most of his life, he’d been going along with the flow and conforming to the status quo - as much as a world-famous teen with horrendous luck could anyway. 

“Harry!” Ron burst into the room with his Cleansweep clutched in his hand. “Want to play a pickup game? Two-on-two, even Hermione’s playing!”

Harry glanced back at the Potions textbook still on the floor and decided to give it up as a lost cause for the day. “Sure, mate. Be down in a few.” 

Ron cheered and left in a frenzy of energy. 

* * *

_ August 4, 1996 _

“I was thinking we could go to Diagon today to get your school supplies.” Mrs. Weasley’s words took a few moments to penetrate the morning fog that hung around the four sleepy occupants of the kitchen table. Once Harry registered what she’d said, he perked up. 

“Can we? There’s a lot of things I need to get.”

Ron, on the other hand, wasn’t thinking about school. “Wicked! We can visit Fred and George’s shop.”

“We’ll go after you lot finish up your breakfast. I’ve already asked Arthur to put in a request for a ministry car. Because we’ve got Harry with us, we’ll be meeting up with Hagrid at the Leaky Cauldron. Extra security and all, sorry Harry.”

Harry only shrugged, he didn’t mind having Hagrid along. He was good in a fight, but also rather trusting, sometimes to his detriment. Hopefully that would make it easier for Harry to slip past him. He didn’t want Hagrid or anyone else with him while he did his shopping. Justifying to Ron and Hermione why he suddenly wanted new robes when he hadn’t cared much about robes in previous years didn’t sound appealing, nor did having them witness him going into his trust vault. No, he would be alone for that. 

“Why aren’t we floo’ing, Mum?” asked Ginny.

“It’s too much of a security risk, we have no clue how many people You-Know-Who has got in the Ministry. We’re better off driving.”

With that, Harry jammed the last piece of bacon into his mouth and gave the plate to a smiling Mrs. Weasley. 

Harry hurriedly made his way to his room, quickly changing into an old pair of jeans and a tee, throwing a light cloak on as the weather in London could be unpredictable. He stuffed his Invisibility Cloak inside the inner pocket, thankful for the sheer fabric. He quickly brushed his teeth and returned to the kitchen. 

“Harry! Good morning.” Mr. Weasley jovially greeted Harry from behind the counter, helping his wife with the last of the washing up. 

“Good morning. Am I the first one down?” asked Harry, noticing that they were the only ones present. 

“Ron is hardly ever ready on time, but I don’t know what’s keeping the girls.” Mrs. Weasley answered. 

Harry wandered off, claiming a comfortable armchair in the living room to spend the wait in. Hermione joined him after a while and they sat together in awkward silence. 

Hermione was the first one to break. “Are you excited to get out?”

“Yeah, it’s been a pretty dull summer so far.” 

Hermione nodded and they slipped back into the stifling quiet. Just then, a car trundled up to the front gate of the Burrow and a loud honk came from the horn. Evidently the driver was ready to go. 

“Ron, Ginny!” shouted Mrs. Weasley, “The car’s here, finish up!”

A great crash came from Ron’s room and his voice floated down the stairs, assuring his mum that he’d be down in a minute. 

Harry stood up and passed by Hermione, still on the couch, on his way to the entrance hall. She quickly followed him and they joined the elder Weasleys. Ginny was already there and Ron was stumbling down the stairs, still trying to get one of his trainers on. 

The ragtag group piled out of the Burrow and squeezed into the white car. Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that the interior had been magically expanded, giving everyone ample space to stretch out in. 

“Off to the Leaky, ‘s that right?” The driver asked. 

“Yes, thank you.”

The car sped off and Ron and Ginny began an enthusiastic debate over what the twins’ shop would look like. Harry tuned them out and instead spent the ride gazing out at the scenery flashing by. 

Harry slowly began to recognize the streets they were driving on and the car pulled up in front of the Leaky Cauldron not long after. Hagrid’s giant silhouette could be seen loitering off to the side of the entrance. He was clearly trying to be inconspicuous, but it was a mission already doomed to failure on account of his sheer size.

Once all six of them had exited the car, it sped off, the driver telling Mr. Weasley to give him a holler when they needed him again. Harry assumed Mr. Weasley had a way to contact him, otherwise they were about to be stranded. 

“Harry!” Harry was suddenly swept up into a massive hug, feet dangling off the ground. 

“Hi, Hagrid.” He panted once he was released. 

“Good ter see yeh all, Molly, Arthur,” Hagrid shook hands with everyone else and led the group into the Leaky Cauldron. The inside was devoid of customers and the few who were there seemed to be in a hurry. The children were struck at the changed atmosphere while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seemed to be expecting it, mouths set in a grim line. Harry knew that many of these witches and wizards had lived through the first war with Voldemort and it made his heart clench to see those same people preparing for war again. 

Tom was at the counter as always, and he waved at them as they filed past on their way to the Alley. Hagrid shouldered the back door open and they were presented with a plain brick wall. Mr. Weasley drew his wand, tapping the correct brick, and the bricks parted to reveal Diagon Alley like Harry had never seen it before. 

The same grim atmosphere that had hung over the Leaky Cauldron was present here, too. Customers hurried between shops, not pausing for conversation. Propaganda liberally covered every available surface, giving defense tips and announcing miracle new products to protect your loved ones. Mr. Weasley glared at those in particular as they passed them. 

Pictures of Death Eaters stared down from the awnings and many were prone to cackling madly at random intervals. Harry spotted Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange among them. 

Hagrid came to a halt outside of Flourish and Blotts and turned around to face his entourage. “Righ’, where’ll we visit first?”

“Er, I’ve got to stop by Gringotts, I’ve not got any money.” Harry answered first. 

“Anyone else hafta visit Gringotts?” Hagrid asked. 

Ron and Ginny shook their heads; their parents had given them money before they left. Hermione shook her head as well, holding up the bag of coins that she had left over from the last school year. 

“The lines at Gringotts are very long nowadays, Bill said. I don’t know how long it’ll take for us to get out of there.” Mrs. Weasley said, nervously twisting the corner of her scarf. 

“Maybe I’ll just go with Hagrid and the rest of you can get started on your shopping?” Harry volunteered. 

The Weasleys looked at each other for a long moment, silently debating. Hagrid clapped his hand on Harry’s shoulder, as if silently proclaiming that he’d protect Harry. Mr. Weasley eventually sighed and turned back to face Harry. 

“Harry, don’t leave Hagrid’s side and come right back to us when you’re finished. We’ll be in Madam Malkins for new robes.” Harry nodded eagerly and made to leave with Hagrid, but Ginny piped up. 

“Mum, my robes fit fine. Can we get my books first?

“All right, Ginny and I will go to Flourish and Blotts, Arthur will take Ron and Hermione to Madam Malkins, and Hagrid and Harry will go to Gringotts. Are we clear?” Mrs. Weasley asked, a chorus of yeses answering her. 

Satisfied that he had already managed to part from the group, Harry followed Hagrid down the Alley. As the tall marble building loomed closer, Harry could see armored goblins guarding the entrance to Gringotts. Many of them had a scabbard around their waist and others had the handle of a blade jutting up from over their shoulder. The two goblins on either side of the main doors held what looked like a black rod. 

Hagrid drew even with the steps and made to climb them, but Harry reached out and stopped him. 

“Hagrid, I was wondering if I could go in alone? You might, er, draw too much attention.” Harry tried to say tactfully. 

Hagrid looked down at Harry, one bushy eyebrow raised. “Yeh realize I’m here for yer security, yeah?”

“Yes, but Gringotts is incredibly well-guarded; you said yourself you’d have to be mad to try and rob it. I don’t think I’ll be getting into any trouble here.”

Hagrid considered that statement, looking up at the row of menacing goblins on the top step. 

“Promise yeh’ll come righ’ back here when yer done?” Hagrid asked. 

Harry nodded emphatically and Hagrid stood aside, letting Harry climb the steps alone. Inside, he was jubilant. He was now alone and even if the lines in Gringotts took awhile as Mrs. Weasley had said they might, Harry could justify the amount of time he was gone with the long wait. He surreptitiously patted his pocket, making sure that the Cloak was still there. It was, and Harry was satisfied. 


	8. Wait, What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a boring chapter, but necessary for the plot. The next chapter will be Harry's arrival at Hogwarts, so prepare for things to start moving along faster.

_ August 4, 1996 _

In hindsight, maybe facing down an intimidating goblin - who just so happened to be armed to the teeth - alone wasn’t the brightest idea Harry had ever had. Five goblins were lined up on either side of the ornate doors that led to the Gringotts interior. The door was bolted with the biggest lock Harry had ever seen, and on closer inspection, he saw that there was no keyhole, simply a vertical furrow in the metal that stretched the length of the lock face. 

The goblin Harry was closest to waved him closer with one gnarled finger and Harry hesitantly took a few steps closer, not eager about being within slicing length of the wicked looking gladiolus that hung around the goblin’s waist. 

A thin black rod was suddenly being waved over Harry’s body and he stood stock still, having no clue what was going on. He caught a glimpse of a stylized P decorating the head of the rod as it passed over his head once again. The goblin retreated from Harry’s personal space, evidently happy with whatever results the rod had given. 

The goblin’s partner on the other side of the doors turned without being prompted and ran a finger down the furrow in the lock. A rumble sounded from somewhere within and the lock glowed, causing the doors to liquidize, becoming transparent. Every pulse of the lock sent ripples throughout the formerly solid construction. 

Harry gazed at the blatant display of magic in awe. A sharp prod to his back had him stepping through the doors before he could get decapitated. Entering Gringotts was like suddenly being doused with a bucket of ice water; goosebumps sprang up along Harry’s arms and refused to retreat even when he was fully through the doors. He turned back, only to be confronted by a sturdy, opaque wall mere inches from his nose. 

Harry gave it up, knowing that trying to figure out how this feat had been achieved would raise more questions than answers. 

He walked off, intent on getting to a teller’s desk, only to immediately smack into an extremely tall wizard.

“Oh! Sorry, sir.” 

“Eh?” The wizard peered down at Harry and his eyes widened in recognition, flicking up to his scar and back down to his eyes. “Merlin’s beard! Harry Potter! What an honor it is, dear boy. I saw the  _ Prophet  _ you know, how you fought You-Know-Who, really quite extraordinary…” The man seized Harry’s hand and enthusiastically shook it, all the while loudly professing his admiration of Harry’s prowess. The volume of his voice drew more attention to the pair, multiple shouts of excitement ringing out through the hall. 

Harry peered around the wizard, heart sinking when he realized just how many people were standing in the lobby. Witches and wizards were packed in shoulder to shoulder, harried tellers doing their best to keep the lines moving. 

“Er, sir, if you don’t mind I really ought to get going, I’ve got to visit my vault.” Harry finally extricated his hand from the man’s grip, subtly shaking it out.

“Of course, of course, sorry about that. Take my spot if you’d like,” Despite offering up his spot, Harry wasn’t given much choice on whether or not to accept. “Stand right here, took me all morning to get this far. Too many people trying to stock up on gold nowadays.”

Harry was yanked into the line, nearly missing hitting an elderly woman on the arm. The woman paid no attention to the near miss, telling Harry that he could take her spot as well. It was the least she could do for the Boy-Who-Lived after all. 

Harry found himself being shunted through the line, giving out handshakes and accepting praise. He was fairly sure he’d kissed a baby at one point. 

A minute later he was staring up at the teller, thankfully not armed as far as he could tell.

“Name?” The goblin croaked out. 

“Harry Potter.”

“What is your business here?”

“I’d like to speak with the Potter account manager, if possible.”

The goblin grunted and leaned beneath his desk, pushing an item Harry assumed was a button. 

“Right, Griphook’ll be here momentarily, you can wait for him there,” The goblin pointed to a cordoned off area behind the row of tellers’ desks, “He’ll help you out. Next!”

“Thank you,” Harry said, bowing slightly toward the goblin. Harry strode toward the place where he’d been told to wait, missing the goblin’s widened eyes and assessing look toward Harry’s retreating back. 

A few others were milling around the designated waiting area, none of whom bothered Harry. Harry was rather grateful for the reprieve and leaned against a nearby pillar, settling in for the wait.

It wasn’t long before a smartly dressed goblin approached the waiting queue. “Mister Potter? Follow me if you would.” Griphook performed a sharp pivot and walked back the way he came, without checking if Harry was following. 

Harry scrambled to catch up, following Griphook through the labyrinthine halls of the Gringotts underground. He was taken through so many twists and turns that he began to despair of seeing sunlight ever again. 

Griphook came to a halt outside a nondescript wooden door set into the wall. There was nothing remarkable about it, no identifying characteristics that set it apart. Just one among dozens of doors exactly like it. Harry was beginning to see why someone would have to be mad to try and rob Gringotts. 

The door swung open at the touch of Griphook’s hand and the duo stepped into an office that was just as spartan as the door. There was a desk, a filing cabinet, and three chairs arrayed around the desk. A rug lay under the ensemble and that was it. 

Griphook gestured for Harry to take a seat in front of the desk, sitting down in his own chair behind it. Once Harry did so, he laced his fingers together and stared at Harry. 

“Would you care to explain, Mr. Potter, why you have not responded to any of Gringotts’ correspondence sent to you since you turned fifteen?” The interlaced fingers came apart but Harry was no less comfortable. 

Harry was blindsided and extremely confused. His correspondence was few and far between, so he was sure that he would have remembered getting something from Gringotts. “I’m sorry? I’ve never received any letters from Gringotts.”

Griphook scowled at that, or at least Harry took it to be a scowl, goblin facial expressions weren’t particularly, well,  _ expressive _ . “We have sent no less than thirteen missives, correctly addressed to you, requesting a meeting in your capacity as the Potter heir. Until you turned fifteen, your magical guardian had full control of your vaults. Now that you are fifteen, or sixteen now as the case may be, you have more control than your guardian.”

“I never got anything about that! Who’s my guardian?” Harry asked. 

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is listed as your official guardian in the magical world.”

Harry ground his teeth together so hard, he was sure Griphook could hear it. Why did Dumbledore pop up everywhere? He had his fingers in a few hundred too many pies. 

“How is that possible? I didn’t even know he was my guardian,” Harry was more than a little teed off at being kept in the dark once again, “And he’s not related to me. Is that legal?”

The goblin shifted a bit in his chair, seemingly picking up on Harry’s anger. “All Muggle-born children, and children without a previously assigned guardian, upon attendance at Hogwarts are placed under the guardianship of the current Headmaster.”

Harry took this in. “Right. Wonderful. Could he be the reason I’ve not been getting my mail?”

The room fell silent as Griphook considered the question. He eventually shrugged and responded, “It’s entirely possible. Gringotts has never tried to contact you directly, instead opting to send monthly statements of the Potter account to your guardian. We only began addressing correspondence to you on July 31, 1995. Unfortunately, we have no way of telling how he’s doing it, or indeed if he is even the perpetrator.”

“Of course there’s not,” Harry muttered. “What were the letters about?”

“Since you are old enough to officially take up the Potter Heirship, Gringotts wanted to inform you that you should come in to collect your Heir ring and go over the full contents of your vaults.”

“Where do we start?”

  
“We start, Mr. Potter, with visiting the main vault of the Potter account. Your ring will be there, as will be a good number of Potter heirlooms, along with the rest of the money the Potter name holds.”

“That sounds great and all, but I originally came here to see about getting some coins out of my trust vault, and maybe a bag with an undetectable extension charm?” Harry couldn’t let himself forget about that bag, he needed the expanded storage space. 

“We can certainly do that as well. Do you have the key to your trust vault?” Griphook asked. 

Harry’s mind blanked. The last time he’d seen the key… Hagrid had had it, then Mrs. Weasley had somehow gotten it for a shopping trip later on. He’d never held it personally, and he relayed this to the goblin. 

“That complicates matters somewhat. Luckily, it’s relatively simple to forge a new key. I’ll just need a few drops of blood. It’ll be painless, if you’re actually Harry Potter that is.” Griphook’s mouth stretched into an approximation of a smile that had Harry wanting to retreat, to where he didn’t know, but he wanted to retreat. 

Griphook reached beneath his desk and opened a drawer, removing a cube of gold and a rather fancy-looking knife and placing them on the desk. 

“The gold’s already got the necessary enchantments on it, all it needs is your blood to activate it,” Griphook explained, offering the knife to Harry hilt first. “Seven drops on any side.” 

Harry grasped the handle of the knife, admiring the realistic carving of a dragon in flight on the pommel. He nicked the tip of his index finger and gave up the requisite number of drops. As each red droplet hit the cube, it shimmered and was absorbed. Once the seventh drop hit the surface, the gold melted and reformed itself into a key. 

Harry retracted his bloody finger and squeezed his thumb against the wound. The knife was given back to Griphook and in return, he was given the key to keep. Harry placed it in his pocket, making sure it wasn’t the same one that contained his Cloak.

“That’s yours, be sure you don’t lose it. Any time a new key is created, any old ones become defunct unless you specify otherwise. Would you like-”

“No, no, that’s really all right.” Harry hastened to make his opinion known. 

“As for the bag, I happen to have a mokeskin bag with the charm you specified, along with a featherlight charm.” Griphook dug around in his drawer once more and retrieved a brown cinch bag with black cording running around the top. “If you like it, it’s five Galleons, which can be given to me directly once we arrive at your vault.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Excellent. There’s one more matter of business before we can travel to your vaults. As our mail is apparently unable to get to you by owl, I’d like to offer you a correspondence box.” Griphook produced a nicely lacquered wooden box with the Gringotts seal embossed on the lid and a smaller topaz gem embedded directly beneath. “Free of charge since the mail issue doesn’t appear to be your fault,” He added. 

Harry’s jaw nearly dropped to the ground. Free of charge? Since when did goblins do anything for free when there was money to be made?

“Er, sure, sounds useful.” Harry truly did think this was a convenient solution. 

“If you place parchment in the box and close the lid, it will travel to the corresponding box, which I have here,” Griphook indicated another box on a table in the corner of his office, “And pressing the gem will shrink and unshrink the box. The seal on top will glow when you have new correspondence. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Harry dryly replied.

“Very well. Let us be off.”

Griphook stood up, rounding the desk and pushing his office door open. Harry went along with it, mind whirling with the ramifications of this visit that had turned into something so much more than he’d had planned. 

_ What is it with people dumping a ton of information on me and then leaving? First Dumbledore, then Death, now Griphook. Fate’s got a lot to answer for if I ever get ahold of her,  _ Harry internally ranted as he blindly followed Griphook once more. Surely threatening a primordial deity would be good for his health. 

Finally approaching an area of Gringotts Harry vaguely recognized, Griphook hailed a cart and Harry clambered on behind his guide. The cart took off with a shuddering jolt and the groaning of the metal would have made Harry fear for his life if not for the existence of magic. After a few hairpin turns, the cart settled and Harry relaxed, actually enjoying the ride. It was close to what he imagined a roller coaster would be like. He’d never actually been on one, the Dursleys had never taken him anywhere that had one. 

“Vault 688,” announced Griphook as the cart jerked to a stop. Harry was nearly thrown against the barrier separating the front and back seats, but caught himself just in time. 

“That’s the main Potter vault, yeah?” asked Harry. 

“Correct.” 

Both passengers exited the cart and approached the door.

“Key please.” Griphook held out his hand. Harry quickly located the key and gave it over. The key was inserted into the lock, this one with an actual keyhole, and the door slowly creaked open, revealing piles upon piles of clutter. 

“It would seem whoever entered this vault last neglected to do a bit of cleaning up.” Griphook sighed. 

“How are we ever going to find the ring in this?” At this rate, Harry didn’t think he’d be making it above-ground in time to dodge Hagrid. 

“All the legal documents and rings are kept in a separate compartment within the family vault. It should be right around - yes!” Griphook withdrew his hand from a hole in the wall that had previously had a stone covering it. In his hand lay a nondescript ring, a simple golden band with the Potter crest stamped on a raised circle. 

“That goes on your left index finger. It should resize to fit you if you are the true Heir.” The ring was passed over to Harry, who put it on the indicated finger. The ring wouldn’t go past his second knuckle until it widened ever so slightly, then Harry was able to get it snugly on the base of his finger. 

“Is there a way I can hide this? I don’t really want people finding out about this unless absolutely necessary,” asked Harry. 

“Hm? Yes, just will it to become invisible. Come along, you can fill up that bag of yours next door,” said Griphook. Harry was summarily chivied out of the vault and the process was repeated at Vault 687. Griphook got his five Galleons and Harry stuffed the mokeskin bag full of coins. 

One cart ride later, Harry found himself back in the Gringotts lobby. It was still as packed as it had been when he’d arrived, and he was positive he saw the wizard he’d bumped into earlier propped up against a pillar, snoring away. 

“This is where we part ways. Goodbye, Mister Potter.” Griphook turned back toward the tunnels, evidently thinking the conversation over. 

“Thank you for your help today, Griphook.” Harry called after the goblin. The only confirmation Harry got that his message had been heard was a slight hesitation in Griphook’s stride. 

Harry weaved his way in and out of the crowd, making his way toward the double doors on the other side of the hall. A guard saw him coming and triggered the opening mechanism on the doors when Harry was a metre away. Nodding his thanks to the guard, Harry stepped out into the fresh air, gratefully sucking in a deep breath. 

Hagrid was sitting on the bottom step, fortunately facing away from the Gringotts doors. Harry sidled to the side, away from the guards but not fully in plain sight, and donned his Cloak. Walking around Diagon Alley invisible was a good sight harder than doing it in Hogsmeade as everything was closer together, but Harry eventually managed to make it to Madam Malkin’s storefront. He figured that Ron and Hermione would be gone by now. He waited until a group of Hogwarts students were passing in front of him to remove the Cloak and slip inside. 

Madam Malkin made short work of his requests and Harry left the proud owner of what amounted to an entirely new wardrobe. The only other place he had to visit under the Cloak was Slug and Jiggers, as no one yet knew that he was continuing with Potions. 

Harry’s subterfuge was successful yet again at the apothecary and his pockets were remarkably heavier when he exited the pungent store. He returned to the first place he’d slipped his Cloak on and removed it for good, stuffing it unceremoniously back into its assigned pocket and descending the steps again. 

“Harry! There yeh are, I was beginnin’ to worry. Got everythin’ yeh need?” Hagrid exclaimed when he caught sight of Harry. 

“Yeah, but the lines are a nightmare in there.” Harry remarked. 

“Aye, that they are. Let’s join the others, got a lot to get done!” Harry walked a step behind Hagrid, enjoying the way the crowd simply had to part for his massive bulk. There was a lot less shoving and elbowing than there had been at Gringotts. 

Harry spotted Mrs. Weasley waving them down at Flourish and Blotts and he pointed her out to Hagrid. 

“Did it go well at Gringotts?” Mrs. Weasley asked once they were within earshot. 

“It was fine. Where are Ron and Hermione?” replied Harry. 

“They’re checking out Fred and George’s shop,” she said, pointing to the riot of color that Harry had seen on his invisible excursion. “Would you like to join them?”

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go with Hagrid and finish up my shopping,” Harry said, waving his school supply list for emphasis. 

When Mrs. Weasley nodded in agreement, Harry and Hagrid walked off to complete the shopping Harry hadn’t already done. 

As they struggled toward Eeylop’s, Harry fingered his new ring. That had certainly been a surprise, albeit not an unwelcome one. Things were looking up. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Visions of Spectres

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait (again!). I've had a lot going on with recovering from a biopsy and moving into my dorm. Harry's finally reached Hogwarts, secret powers and all.

_ September 1, 1996 _

The world had gone to sleep, not knowing it would never wake again. Flickers of grey light appeared here and there, vanishing again in the oppressive darkness of the vast, barren plain. Harry stood alone in the middle of the hellscape, a perfect circle of dead grass radiating out from where his feet were planted. The withered grass was the only vegetation that could be seen for miles. 

Harry was trying to move, trying to command his body to listen, but he was frozen in place. Panic was slowly creeping up on him, cold spindly fingers crawling up his back. The lights were flickering faster now, getting closer to his location. The lights gained more definition the closer they were, consolidating into human-like forms. An arm and shoulder here, a torso and leg there, an occasional floating head materializing above the rest. 

Faster and faster the lights moved until Harry felt as if he was trapped in the middle of a swirling tornado. Grey was all he saw, roaring wind all he heard, until he woke up flailing and crashed to the floor in a tangle of blankets. He lay there panting for a few moments, hoping that no one had heard him fall. 

Once he was sure no one was up and about, he untangled his legs from the blanket he’d fallen asleep under and picked himself off the floor, returning to the bed. Sadly, prophetic dreams were par for the course for him. This one, though, hadn’t felt like he had been sucked into Voldemort’s mind again. No one except for him and a few partial apparitions had been present. More mysteries, how wonderful. 

Harry laid back down, shoving his pillow over his eyes. It was too early to be dealing with this. He drifted off again, hoping to get some more restful sleep before the chaos of the morning came.

* * *

The sun streaming through the window woke him before Mrs. Weasley did. Harry squinted his eyes against the glare, wishing the sun would go away and let him be. He’d had a restless night since the dream - nightmare, really - had woken him up. A trio of sharp raps sounded outside the door. 

“Harry, dear, we’ve got several hours before the Express leaves. I’d finish packing if I were you!” Mrs. Weasley said. 

“Er, reckon I’ve already got that covered.” Harry sheepishly replied. He’d packed the previous night, not wanting to get caught up in the typical Weasley chaos that preceded the trip to Kings Cross. He could still hear Mrs. Weasley’s shouts from last year after Fred and George had nearly knocked Ginny down a flight of stairs by levitating their trunk down it. Such planning was usually not his forte, he thought Hermione would be rather proud of him. 

_ Or she would be, if we were talking like usual,  _ Harry sobered at that thought. The rest of the summer after going shopping at Diagon Alley had been no better. There were still awkward silences, stilted conversations, and silent jealousy - on Hermione’s part at least. Ron didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with his best mates’ relationship, he simply kept trying to entice Harry away from his books. 

Harry changed into his school uniform, deciding to leave the robe and tie off until they arrived at Hogwarts. He had bought new trousers at Madam Malkins and was pleased that they actually fit him instead of hanging a few centimetres above his ankles. 

He exchanged an excited smile with Ron on the landing on his way to the bathroom and was the second one downstairs. Hermione already had her trunk sitting by the front door and was in full uniform, meticulously eating her breakfast

“Morning, Hermione.” Harry greeted her. 

“Good morning.”

Harry got his breakfast plate from Mrs. Weasley and that was it for conversation. Ginny joined them shortly after and attempted to tell some jokes, but they all fell flat. Eventually, they had all finished eating and Ron still wasn’t downstairs. Harry could tell that Mrs. Weasley was getting more and more tense with each passing minute, until it boiled over.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley! We’ve got to leave, get down here now!” She shrieked, already storming upstairs to have it out with her youngest son. Mr. Weasley passed her on the stairs, shooting an apologetic grin to the trio at the kitchen table. 

“Sorry about Ron, he’ll be along shortly. Let’s get going, then.” He exclaimed. 

With little fanfare, luggage was piled into the trunk of the single Ministry car Mr. Weasley had managed to acquire. Harry was then unceremoniously squished between Ginny and the window as they piled in, Hedwig’s cage wedged between his knees. From his vantage point, he could see Ron running out the front door, a piece of bacon clenched in his teeth and his half closed trunk dangling from his hand. A harried Mrs. Weasley followed, holding Pig’s cage. She turned around as Ron shoved his trunk in with the rest, shooting a spell Harry couldn’t identify at the front door. A red-faced Ron clambered into the backseat, accepting Pig’s cage from his mother through the window. Mrs. Weasley climbed into the unnaturally large passenger seat next to her husband, and they were off. 

Pulling up at Kings Cross Station, Harry immediately spotted two imposing figures lurking by the entrance. The Aurors hurried the group to the barrier, ushering the four students through first. 

Once Harry pushed his trolley through the barrier and walked off to the side, he took a minute to observe the platform. It was quiet. Conversations were held in a whisper as families stood close together. More Aurors lined the edges of the platform wearing dragonhide robes. War had once again come to the wizarding world. 

“Harry, this way!” called Ginny, startling Harry. He followed her to a door in the middle of the train, helping her haul her luggage up. Ron and Hermione followed suit. 

“Please be careful this year,” Mrs. Weasley pleaded, “No trolls, or basilisks, or Blast-Ended Scooches… Hagrid really ought to have known better with that one. Oh, just keep out of trouble, will you?” She wrung her hands, hugging each of them in turn and tearily saying goodbye. Mr. Weasley hugged his kids too, offering a handshake to Harry and Hermione. 

“We’ll be fine, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry tried to reassure her. 

“You might stand a chance this year, with Fred and George gone,” Mr. Weasley remarked. 

They shared a brief laugh before Mrs. Weasley waved them onto the train and Ron pulled the door shut behind them. 

“Right, should we look for a compartment?” asked Harry. 

“Hermione and I have got a Prefect’s meeting, sorry mate.” Ron said. Hermione nodded, having already pinned her badge to her chest. 

“I’ll catch up with you guys later, then,” Harry said. Hermione pulled Ron off down the corridor and Harry and Ginny were left alone. 

“Fancy that compartment?”

“Sorry, Harry, I said I’d meet up with Dean,” Ginny said, looking mildly sorry. “I’ll see you at the Sorting Feast.”

“Right, okay.” Harry awkwardly waved goodbye to Ginny as she strode away. 

_ Great, just me and my thoughts.  _

Harry grasped the handle of his trunk, Hedwig hooting at the sudden movement, and set off in search of a decent compartment. As he passed multiple full compartments, conversations fell silent as the speakers stared at him in awe, and when he left, furiously whispered voices started up in his wake. Lockhart had been right about one thing at least; fame was a fickle friend. Harry, used to this treatment, ignored the admirers and at last found an empty compartment near the front of the train. He hefted his trunk and Hedwig’s cage up on the luggage rack and flopped down onto the nearest seat. 

He’d already pulled a very Hermione-esque move by reviewing all of his textbooks for the upcoming year, paying special attention to Potions, so Harry was out of things to do. He knew Ron and Hermione would have to do some rounds after the meeting, and he wasn’t entirely sad about that. There’s something to be said for being alone with your thoughts. 

“Harry!” The door to his compartment slid open, revealing a blond, lanky young man struggling to fit his trunk through the doorway. Another blonde holding a magazine to her chest looked on in humour. 

_ Spoke too soon.  _

“Need any help there, Nev?”

“Nah, I got it,” Neville panted, finally freeing his trunk. “Nice to see you, mate.”

“You too. Hi, Luna,” Harry greeted her as she followed Neville into the compartment. 

“Where’s your stuff?” Harry asked. She held nothing but what seemed to be an edition of the  _ Quibbler.  _

“I left it with Ginny, I sensed there were Wrackspurts further up on the train,” Luna hummed. She examined the space around Harry’s head and nodded in satisfaction. 

“Er, right.” 

Neville, unable to hold it in any longer, burst out in excitement, “Check it out!” he exclaimed, pulling down the collar of his shirt. A branching green tree was spread across his chest, limbs reaching for his collarbone while the roots snaked down toward his ribs. 

“Congrats, Nev!” Harry leaned in to get a closer look, it was the first elemental mark he’d had a chance to get a close look at since Ron had proudly showed off the flame he’d gotten back in March. “I reckon getting earth wasn’t much of a surprise, huh?”

“Gran was right chuffed, though. Said I was taking after my dear ol’ dad,” Neville beamed. It was clear that he was excited to have this connection with his father, not that Harry could begrudge him that. “What about you, mate?”

“I don’t think Harry would appreciate being questioned about that, Neville,” Luna piped up. She now had an odd pair of glasses perched on her nose and she was swinging her feet, examining the ceiling in great detail. 

“Why not?” Neville asked, quizzically looking at Luna. 

Harry jumped in before Luna could say anything else incriminating. He didn’t know how she knew anything about how his birthday had gone, but was unwilling to take any chances. “I didn’t manifest, that’s why.”

“...Oh. Oh, that’s fine! It’s not that big a deal, don’t worry about it,” Neville hastened to assure Harry. 

“Thanks, Nev,” Harry grinned. “That’s one less thing to worry about, at least.”

Harry made a mental note to question Luna about what she knew when they could get some time alone. The trio settled into a comfortable rhythm of conversation, enjoying the relaxed company. The last time they’d seen each other had been at Hogwarts after the Ministry battle. The entire school had had a tense atmosphere about it after it had been made public that Voldemort was back. 

Ron and Hermione slipped in after a while, chatting to themselves in a corner of the compartment. The trolley witch came by soon after, selling several Cauldron Cakes and Licorice Wands to the group. Harry contentedly munched on his snack as the sun sank below the horizon. 

_ We must be getting close,  _ he thought. The terrain was gradually morphing into the rolling hills of Scotland, great walls of green stretching up to the sky. Neville suggested they change into their uniforms, prompting Hermione and Luna to leave for the empty next-door compartment to change into their clothes. Harry shrugged on his robe and donned his tie. Being the first to finish, he relaxed by the window and kept a lookout for familiar landmarks. 

At last, the train juddered into Hogsmeade Station with a loud whine. Throngs of students spilled out the doors, relieved to be in the fresh air. Harry could have sworn he spotted Tonks at the edge of the platform, but didn’t have the chance to look closer before Ron tugged him away. 

Ron pulled Harry into a carriage after Hermione, Neville climbing in behind him. Luna had gone off in search of Ginny, telling Harry that they would talk later. Harry could do nothing but trust her. When it came to Luna, it was best to go along with whatever she said.

A few minutes into the carriage ride, Harry felt a sudden feeling of warmth fall over his body. Puzzled, he looked around to see if anyone else had felt it. Hermione and Ron were still engrossed in conversation and Neville had his nose in a Herbology textbook. Nothing looked amiss, so Harry decided to shrug it off and forget about it. 

He leaned his forehead against the cool window, watching the ground rumble past along with the occasional flash of a thestral’s hoof. Too much was going on to worry about a single hot flash. Eventually, the dirt path turned into cobblestones and the carriage rolled up to the imposing front doors of Hogwarts castle. 

Harry and his friends joined the group of students streaming through the doors and into the Entrance Hall. As soon as he set foot on the first step, Harry froze. His brain felt like it was being assaulted, albeit much less painful than when Snape had done it. His vision was washed out, replaced by a field of black. Six faces took center field, different scenes playing out behind them. Harry recognized the central six figures as the House ghosts, along with Professor Binns and Moaning Myrtle. In the scenes he watched, however, they looked very much alive. 

The Grey Lady running away from a much newer looking Hogwarts, a rucksack slung across her back. The Bloody Baron chasing after her. Professor Binns holding a pointer stick and lecturing a class of students in outdated uniforms about History. The Fat Friar kneeling in front of a congregation. Nearly-Headless Nick standing in a field of scarlet grass, a blurry figure swinging an axe at his neck. Moaning Myrtle emerging from a bathroom stall, tears trailing down her cheeks. 

Just as suddenly as the visions had started, they faded out. The lack of sight remained, myriad numbers of faint pinpricks of light growing ever wider in the darkness. The dots of light joined together, revealing a concerned group of students peering at his face. Once his vision had completely cleared, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, as if that could help him make sense of what had just happened. 

“Are you okay, Harry?” Hermione asked. Her eyes flicked up to his scar before returning to his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a small head rush. Reckon we should head in?” Harry didn’t wait for a reply, instead forging ahead through the gap between Ron and Neville’s shoulders. Questions were unwanted. Questions would trip him up. Questions would make him curl up into a ball and weep. 

Harry finally crossed the threshold, smiling at the warmly lit Entrance Hall. He just hoped he could avoid the incessant interrogations about his manifestation that were sure to come in the days ahead. 

He slid into his usual spot in the middle of the Gryffindor table, Ron and Hermione sitting to his right while Neville took the seat across from him. While everyone was settling in, Harry took the chance to examine the head table. 

Snape was there, glowering at everyone who dared to look at him. Sprout and Flitwick were chatting, Hagrid trying to unobtrusively listen in. Professors Vector and Sinistra were already drinking something from their goblets. Dumbledore was patiently sitting in his golden chair, smiling benignly at the entering students. 

Harry’s eyes stopped on the only unknown at the table. A slender woman, all sharp angles and dignified grace. Her black hair was pulled back into a single thick plait that hung halfway down her back, flyaway strands tickling her light brown skin. Her dark brown eyes were constantly moving around, assessing the hall. She was dressed in teacher’s robes, but Harry swore that he could see the bulge of a scabbard on her side. 

This must be the new DADA teacher, Harry figured. He wondered if this was the Reaper that Death had mentioned sending, he didn’t see how else Death could station one at Hogwarts for a full year. 

As if the thought had alerted her to his presence, she turned to look at the Gryffindor table, eyes unerringly finding Harry’s. She winked, and it took all Harry had to not give anything away on his face. He looked back to the table, trying to catch up on Neville’s enthusiastic chatter. 

She was the Reaper, then. She was also the DADA teacher. Harry hoped that the immortal servant of Death would at least be competent and not try to kill him. His track record with Defense teachers wasn’t the best. 


	10. A Mystery Come to Roost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to the people on Writer's Den Discord for giving me input on my ideas for this story! Heccate had a bunch of wonderful ideas that I will be incorporating into this story, so a few new side-arcs will be popping up. I'm very excited to see where it goes!

_ September 1, 1996 _

With a resounding  _ boom,  _ the doors to the Great Hall swung open. Professor McGonagall, clad in her traditional green robes, led a line of timid first years down the gap between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Harry noticed the lack of chatter between the first years as they caught their first glimpse of Hogwarts. Instead, they walked in tight packs, silent and unsure. 

The Sorting Hat rested upon its stool at the front of the Hall. Presumably someone had set it up when Harry hadn’t been paying attention. Even the Hat didn’t seem as vibrant as it had in years past. 

McGonagall stepped up to the stool and removed a scroll from her robes, clenching it in her hands. A hush fell across the hall as the Hat shifted for the first time. The rip in its brim opened wide and the Hat began to sing:

_ In times of yore, when powers raged, _

_ And gods had not yet fled, _

_ Four founders of magic uncaged, _

_ Forged ahead where none had tread. _

_ Cunning Slytherin of airy towers, _

_ Dear Ravenclaw of molten light, _

_ Humble Hufflepuff of earthen flowers, _

_ Great Gryffindor of fiery might. _

_ Stone by stone was Hogwarts raised, _

_ Their vision come to life, _

_ Never dreaming it might be razed, _

_ In the coming days of strife. _

_ When at last they stood as three, _

_ Curses upon the land were laid, _

_ A bitter spirit then did flee, _

_ A price thereafter to be paid. _

_ Now we stand as houses four, _

_ Fighting for each bit of glory, _

_ By the wayside lays our lore, _

_ Our forgotten memento mori.  _

_ Elements five do grow,  _

_ Now a mystery comes to roost, _

_ A single seed to sow, _

_ A new one introduced.  _

_ A world waiting to be renewed, _

_ Ready to change the game, _

_ My friends, beware the feud, _

_ Or see the land aflame. _

_ Fate will see us through, _

_ Meddlesome though she is, _

_ Herald the drum’s tattoo, _

_ Heed the words Death says. _

_ Though I quarter every year, _

_ Though I send hither and yon, _

_ Though the rivalries I fear, _

_ I must send you on. _

_ Please see the warning signs, _

_ Please hear the words I sing, _

_ Break out of your confines, _

_ Every string becomes a ring. _

_ Now you know, now you hear, _

_ Now I must begin to sort, _

_ Those who stand before me here, _

_ Now you join your court. _

Scattered applause broke out, though no one really knew what to make of the Hat’s song. It was even more cryptic than it had been last year, and that was saying something. Harry was especially creeped out by the Hat’s references to Fate and Death; and knowing that a good deal of wizards were Pagan and thus worshipped various iterations of Death didn’t make him feel any better. He’d put a good number of Galleons on himself being the only person not about to die that Death had made an appearance to in recent years. 

“Reckon the Hat’s gone a bit loopy?” Neville whispered to him across the table. Harry had to choke back a laugh at that. 

“Too right it has,” he whispered back, “want to join my cour-”

“Bain, Gavin.” Harry was cut off by Professor McGonagall beginning the Sorting and both boys turned their attention back to the front. The Sorting continued along and as the last student joined the Hufflepuff table, McGonagall swept the Hat and tripod stool off the dais and Dumbledore rose from his seat. 

“Welcome! To our students new and old, welcome! I will have some remarks for you later, but for now, tuck in!” With a grand flourish of his wand, the House tables filled with food.

“We’ve got another Defense teacher.” Ron said, speaking around a mouthful of chicken. 

“Yes, how observant of you, Ronald.” Hermione said, looking at Ron in distaste. “Umbridge was hardly fit to return, was she?”

Ron simply shrugged and returned to his plate of food, stacked several chicken legs high. 

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what this one is like,” she mused. 

“She can’t be as bad as Umbridge.” Neville interjected. 

Harry gave a wry smile. “Careful there, Nev. Don’t want to jinx it, do you?” 

Neville chuckled and shook his head. Harry remained quiet after that, taking in the babble of conversation that washed over the Gryffindor table. 

Soon, the last of the pudding was frantically being shoveled into Ron’s mouth. Dumbledore stood once more, preparing to speak. He fiddled with his sleeves, a move Harry knew was made to hide his blackened hand.

“There are a few traditional start-of-term announcements I would like to deliver. Mr. Filch has asked that I remind you of…” Harry tuned out at this point, knowing that it would be the same drivel about banned items and Quidditch tryouts. He began toying with his napkin, tearing small pieces off the corners. He jolted back to attention when Hermione’s elbow dug into his ribs. 

“We have a new member of staff joining us this year,” Dumbledore was saying, “Please welcome Defense Professor Semiramis Ramat to Hogwarts!”

Polite applause broke out as the newly named Professor Ramat stood to acknowledge the applause. Snape glowered even more at the clapping and Harry wondered what the new professor could have done to earn his ire so quickly. Whatever it was, he mentally added a few points in the Reaper’s favor. 

“And now, I must address the present situation with Voldemort.” That effectively halted the applause and a strained silence descended. “He is recruiting ever more followers and becoming more brazen in his attacks. Hogwarts is well protected, he cannot reach you here. Nevertheless, I am afraid that I must ask every student to strictly abide by the rules, for your safety and that of your peers. We will be increasing the number and frequency of patrols, so I would request that any late-night wanderings be postponed for the time being.” Dumbledore’s eyes found Harry’s as he said this and Harry shifted, knowing full well he’d broken curfew more times than he’d care to count. 

“We must band together and remain strong. If we falter and fall, it will only be from within. A great Muggle politician once said ‘a house divided against itself cannot stand’. I believe we all must take his words to heart and face the coming days as one, with heads held high.” Harry looked over at the Slytherin table, curious what their reaction would be. Draco Malfoy looked utterly bored, as expected. Crabbe and Goyle were on either side of him as his ever-present bookends. There was a tall, olive-skinned boy across from Malfoy with his back to Harry. Harry was fairly sure that it was Blaise Zabini, a pretty quiet Slytherin he’d not had much contact with. 

“And on that note, it is time for you all to return to your dormitories and turn in. Off you go!” Dumbledore retook his seat and the Great Hall filled with the scraping of benches against the stone floor. 

The trio and Neville were joined by Ginny on their way out of the Hall. “The Hat gets more depressing every year, doesn’t it?” She asked. 

“Sure, but what about that mystery it mentioned?” Hermione responded. “It said something about a seed too. It sounds like something weird is going on at Hogwarts.”

Ron snorted. “Hermione, when  _ isn’t  _ something weird happening at Hogwarts? I say we forget about it, it’ll find us eventually if the past five years are any clue.”

Harry nodded his agreement, thankful to Ron for dismissing the Hat’s song. Hermione could be like a dog with a bone when she wanted to know something. 

The group came to a halt, waiting for a staircase to switch to the landing that led to Gryffindor Tower. The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins broke off from the main group, leaving for the kitchens and dungeon. 

“Oi, Potter!” The shout rose above the remaining Gryffindors and Ravenclaws milling about. Harry turned around, only to see Katie Bell elbowing her way past unsuspecting students. 

“What in Merlin’s name,” she panted, “is  _ this  _ about?” She jabbed her thumb toward the gleaming Captain’s badge pinned to her chest. “Care to explain, Potter?”

“Hi to you too, Katie.” Harry weakly responded. “Explain what?”

“Come off it, Harry. I know McGonagall offered you the position first.” The staircase finally moved and Katie determinedly followed him up the stairs. “You’d make a brilliant Captain!”

“Look, Katie, I turned it down because I’ve got way too much going on this year. Besides, I’ve still got a year after this to be Captain if I want to. You don’t. You’re going to be a great Captain, I really don’t see the problem here.” Harry said, wincing at Katie’s disbelieving expression. 

“Me? Bloody hell, Harry, you’ve never lost the Snitch!”

“Your point? I’ll still be on the team, just not as Captain.” Harry tried to brush off her comments. 

“If you’re sure, then.” Katie said. She still seemed hesitant, wanting to make sure Harry was truly okay with the situation. 

“Yes, Katie, I’m fine with it. I wouldn’t have turned the position down otherwise. Ah, look, the Fat Lady!” He cried, seizing the opportunity to slip away from the conversation. He dashed through the portrait hole, not stopping to say hi to anyone as he rushed up the stairs to his dorm. 

Closing the door behind him, Harry collapsed onto his familiar four-poster bed. Hedwig hooted at him from her cage, ruffling her feathers irritably. 

“Sorry, girl.” Harry said, reaching over to unlock the cage. He let Hedwig climb onto his arm and brought her to his chest. She nipped at a few strands of his hair as he carried her over to the window. Harry undid the latch and with a final hoot of farewell, Hedwig glided out into the night to hunt down her dinner. 

Harry left the window open for her return and sunk back onto his bed. The door swung open, admitting a laughing Ron and Neville. 

“Did Katie get to you, mate?” asked Ron. “You took off like a bat out of hell.” 

“In my defense, she’s scary!” Harry replied, prompting a new round of laughter. The door opened once more, Seamus and Dean walking in on the scene.

“Our brave Saviour!” Neville choked out between laughs. 

“Oi, I’d like to see you face down a girl on the warpath!” Harry said, throwing his pillow at Neville. Neville tossed the pillow back, grinning like a loon. 

“So we’ve established that girls are scary. Anything else happen that we should know about?” Ron asked. 

The room settled down, each boy taking a seat on their bed. All eyes turned to Neville and Harry, both of whom had summer birthdays. 

“What?” Harry asked, uncomfortable with the stares. 

“Your manifestation!” Seamus exclaimed, “Let’s see it!” He tugged on his collar for emphasis, the dark blue raindrop he’d gotten last October showing for a split second. 

Neville jumped in, already knowing that Harry supposedly hadn’t manifested on his birthday. He displayed his tree for the room to see. “I woke up to a huge green ball floating over my palm. I kind of squeaked and ran to show Gran.” Neville blushed, but was clearly proud of his new tattoo. 

“That’s amazing, Nev!” Dean said, leaning over to see the delicate branches better. 

“What about you, Harry?” Seamus asked.

“Er, there’s nothing to show. Sorry, guys,” said Harry. He unconsciously scratched his chest just over where his brand was. It wasn’t a lie, more an omission of the truth. 

“Nothing?” Seamus repeated, dumbfounded. 

“Nothing.” 

“Come on, not all half-bloods inherit. Even some purebloods don’t! Cut the guy some slack.” Seamus coloured at Neville’s proclamation and rushed to apologize to Harry. 

“Don’t worry about it, mate.” Harry said.

“Well, three out of five ain’t half bad. None of us got Snape as our advisor, that’s gotta be good,” said Seamus. “Imagine those poor sods who’ve got to learn from him. The twins aren’t here anymore to provide a buffer.”

Seamus was right. Snape was the faculty advisor for those who manifested a light talent, and unfortunately for both him and the twins, Fred and George had been forced to take their elemental class with him. Harry still wasn’t sure who had come out of that deal better off. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Actually…” He undid his tie with unsteady fingers, then tugged on the top of his collar. Traces of white ink were revealed the further down he pulled. One, two, three white spirals were etched on his skin, standing out in sharp contrast to his dark skin. 

“How…” Neville trailed off. None of them were sure how Dean had managed a manifestation. Muggleborns didn’t manifest, that was just a fact. Even for those descended from Squibs, the genes were just too far back in their family tree to make an appearance. 

Dean gave a bitter laugh, tightening his tie once again. “Turns out I’m not muggleborn.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. Neither did anyone else. Ron was still staring at where Dean’s tattoo was, Seamus’s face was scrunched up in confusion, and Neville was just looking at Dean expectantly, waiting for him to continue. 

“So I always knew my biological father died before I was born. My mum said he was a soldier who was killed in action. My step-dad was his best friend, so he lived with my mum for a few months after he died, to help out around the house and all that. Well, they fell in love and he ended up staying for good. Mum had me, then had my siblings with my step-dad. So I wake up on my birthday to a glowing white ball that I can’t get rid of and I freak out, as any rational person would.”

The room was dead silent, Trevor’s occasional croak the only other sound besides Dean’s voice. Everyone was entranced by Dean’s tale. 

“Mum came running in, followed by Dad. Mum panicked a bit, but Dad just sighed and gave my mum a look. Said it was time for me to know. The white ball went away a minute later and they sat me down at the kitchen table. Dad, the one who died, was apparently a wizard. He told Mum all about the wizarding world right before they were married. He was killed by Death Eaters when Mum was three months pregnant with me, not killed in battle like I was told. Here’s the kicker: my step-dad isn’t even a Muggle; he’s a second generation squib. He said he’s distantly related to my biological dad, but wouldn’t give me his name. Mum wouldn’t talk about him either. It’s still a sore subject for both of them I guess. They said I’m a halfblood, and that’s why I manifested.” Dean smiled wryly when he finished. 

“That’s… insane.” Harry breathed. He’d had his whole world turned upside down when he manifested as well, he could easily imagine what Dean was going through.

“No kidding. Things are a bit rough at home with Mum and Dad,” admitted Dean, “I say they should’ve told me sooner, and they say I didn’t need to know.”

“Sure, you didn’t  _ need _ to know, but it would’ve been nice to know!” Neville burst out. 

“Is what I’ve told them a thousand times.” Dean said. “I keep asking them for information on my biological father, but all I know is when he died. That’s not much to go off of.”

“We can work with that. We’ll figure it out, mate,” Seamus told Dean, “The library’s got to have some old Prophets we can go through.”

“Give me a few weeks and we’ll come back to that, yeah?” 

Each of them assured Dean that they’d help when he was ready to start looking. Dean thanked them, then they each fell silent. Each boy began getting ready for bed, still thinking about all that had happened that day.

Harry lay awake that night long after the lights had been extinguished. School hadn’t even started and he was already caught up in mysteries beyond him. 


	11. Of Potions and Pretense

_ September 2, 1996 _

“Did you see the new teacher? I hope she’ll…”

“Reckon Snape’ll use the first-years for potions…”

“So Dean told Seamus who told Lavender who told Parvati who told me that Ron…”

The chatter the next morning at the Gryffindor table made Harry want to bang his head into his plate of bacon and eggs. Had they always been so noisy? He felt a brief moment of pity for the teachers who had to deal with the excitable first years that morning. The beginnings of a headache crept up on him, cold, spindly fingers encircling his forehead in their vise-like grip. 

“Potter... Potter!”

Harry jerked his head up from where he’d propped it against his hand, blearily looking up into the pinched face of Professor McGonagall. “Professor?”

“I’m glad to see you’re awake and alert for the first day of classes, Potter. I presume having your schedule would make attending those classes easier, yes?” 

“Er, yes ma’am.” Harry blushed.

“Excellent. Professor Dumbledore did manage to convince Professor Snape to allow you into his N.E.W.T. class. How he managed it, I do not know, but you’d be well advised to not antagonize Professor Snape.”

“He starts it!” Harry protested indignantly. 

“Be that as it may, please attempt to stay out of his way. If you have not yet purchased the textbook, Professor Snape does keep extras in his classroom. You’ll also be taking N.E.W.T.s in Defense, Herbology, Charms, and Transfiguration, correct?”

Harry nodded.

“Then here is your schedule,” Professor McGonagall tapped a blank white square of paper with her wand, ink spiraling out from the tip. “I’ll see you Wednesday, Potter. Do stay out of trouble.”

Harry took the proffered sheet of paper, muttering his goodbyes to Professor McGonagall as she continued moving along the line of students. Glancing down at his schedule, he saw that he only had two periods today: Potions and Defense. Harry audibly groaned, not looking forward to a term of seeing Snape first thing in the morning on Mondays. The rest of his schedule looked manageable, with a liberal amount of free periods scattered throughout. 

Another white card entered his field of vision, blocking his own schedule. Harry looked over at Ron, who was waving his own schedule under Harry’s nose. 

“Trade you?” He asked through a mouthful of sausage. Harry wrinkled his nose, switching schedules with Ron anyway. Ron’s schedule was identical to Harry’s, save the presence of Potions. 

“You’re taking Potions!” Chewed up bits of food spewed out of Ron’s mouth at his loud exclamation, disgusted onlookers shifting away from the splash zone. “Mate, we  _ just  _ got rid of the dungeon bat! Why’d you go and sign up for two more years?”

“How’d you even get into his class?” Hermione asked, looking suspicious. “Professor Snape only takes O students.”

“I got an E+ on my O.W.L., so I wrote to Professor McGonagall to see if I could take Potions since it’s so close to the cutoff.” Harry explained. 

“And she just... let you? Professor Snape didn’t object?” Hermione was looking increasingly annoyed, as if Harry had broken some cardinal rule of academia.

Harry was starting to get annoyed himself. “Yes, at least you’ll have a partner in Potions now!”

Without waiting for an answer, Harry rose from the bench and hurried off down the aisle, passing Professor McGonagall and Neville discussing something about Charms on his way. Harry’s stomach rumbled, prompting a brief moment of regret for having left so hastily. Harry decided against returning to the Great Hall to get some food. Lunch was not so far away, he could eat then. 

Harry navigated the staircases leading back to Gryffindor Tower, even catching a glimpse of a knight on a horse in a portrait of a field that he was ninety percent sure was Sir Cadogan. The brash knight had left quite an impression on everyone who’d had to interact with him while the Fat Lady was being restored after Sirius’ attack. 

Sirius. Harry’s heart clenched; he’d not thought of his godfather in a long time, having been too occupied with other activities. Harry passed another portrait, this one of a dashing young man with his long, black hair swept up into a low ponytail. The unknown man gave Harry a wink as he passed, looking so much like Sirius had been that Harry had to duck the portrait’s gaze and hurry past. 

Logically, Harry knew that mourning for a man he’d only spend the lesser part of two years with was silly. He still couldn’t lift the feeling of crushing guilt that descended whenever he cast his mind back to that night in the Ministry. 

“Fortem,” said Harry when he approached the Fat Lady. The Fat Lady snapped her mouth shut and swung open, admitting Harry into the empty common room. 

Climbing the stairs to his dorm, Harry looked at his schedule once more. Potions and Defense was all right for a Monday. Tuesday would be his busiest day of the week, with double Potions and two other classes. 

Harry grabbed his school bag, shoving some spare parchment, ink pots, and quills inside. He dug through the books still packed away in his trunk, finally finding his Transfiguration text near the bottom. His Potions book was nearly added to his bag when a snore suddenly interrupted his thoughts. 

Harry looked up. Ron had been at breakfast with him, as had Neville, and Seamus’ bed was empty, which left...

Another snore sounded from behind the closed hangings of Dean’s bed. Harry sighed and left his Potions book on top of the stack. He wrenched Dean’s bed hangings apart, revealing a shirtless Dean, elemental mark on full display, splayed out and happily snoring away. 

“Dean?” Harry prodded Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, come on.” Dean’s shoulder gave a twitch, but he was still dead to the world. 

“Dean. Dean. Dean!” Harry got progressively closer to Dean’s ear with each call of his name. On the last one, Dean startled awake, hand nearly hitting Harry in the face. Only his Quidditch reflexes saved Harry from getting his glasses knocked off. 

“Whassup?” mumbled Dean, scrubbing his face. 

“We’ve got classes, man. You’d better get downstairs, McGonagall isn’t going to be happy.” Harry informed him. 

Dean looked around Harry to see the empty room. “Damn it! Even Seamus got up earlier than me, the bastard.”

The irritated mumbling continued as Dean grabbed his uniform and rushed into the bathroom. Harry just chuckled and grabbed his bag, ready to head to Potions. 

“Thanks, mate!” Dean’s voice floated out of the bathroom as Harry left the dorm. Neville and Seamus greeted Harry on their way to collect their own books. 

Entering the common room, Ron could be seen lying on the couch for his post-breakfast nap. Harry decided to leave him be; he’d probably wake up in time for Defense. If not, well, that wasn’t his problem.

The hallways were packed with chattering children, all of whom fell silent as Harry shouldered his way past. It was first year all over again, only now the threat of Voldemort was real and tangible. Harry rather thought the pedestal the wizarding world placed him on had to be crumbling from the number of times he’d been yanked off. 

The cool drafts preceding the entrance to the dungeons were welcome in the muggy September air. Harry loosened his tie in response, descending the stairs to the dungeon bat’s realm. Few red or blue ties could be seen amongst the crowd of green. 

Malfoy and Zabini were already lounging against the wall outside the Potions classroom. Harry wondered whether Crabbe and Goyle had simply not gotten the O required for N.E.W.T. Potions, or had failed the O.W.L. altogether. Whatever the case may be, it was weird to see Malfoy without his ever present bookends. 

Harry took up a position on the opposite wall, both parties seemingly content to ignore the other. More students joined the trio, Ernie MacMillan remaining the sole Hufflepuff. Hermione, curls already frizzing up, sidled up to Harry’s side. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “I shouldn’t have gotten on you about getting into Potions.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Harry agreed.

“Am I forgiven?” She asked hopefully.

Harry gave her a smile, willing to let this one go. “Yeah, you are.” Hermione returned his smile and some tension went out of her shoulders. 

Suddenly, the door to the Potions classroom swung open, hitting the wall with a tremendous bang. Professor Snape loomed in the entrance, trademark black robes enshrouding his lanky frame, complete with scowl. “Inside. Now.” He bit out. 

The assembled students filed inside the classroom in utter silence. Harry and Hermione moved to take up a station in the middle of the classroom. Malfoy and Zabini were directly in front of them, Ernie and Padma behind. Snape stood beside the chalkboard, four corked vials of potions lined up on the desk beside him. 

“Welcome to N.E.W.T. Potions,” Snape drawled, sarcasm heavy in every word. “If you are here, I expect perfection. The potions you will be brewing will not be forgiving of errors, and nor will I.” Even Malfoy was quiet, the weight of his favourite professor’s words settling like chains around his neck. 

“I expect you all have purchased the textbook required for this class,” said Professor Snape, slamming said textbook down on his desk, rattling the potion vials. “If, by chance, one of you imbeciles has not managed to procure a copy, two extra copies are stored,” Snape flicked his wand toward a shadowy corner of the classroom, prompting the violent opening of a cupboard door, “here. Return them after you are done. They will not be available next class period.”

The sound of rustling bags filled the classroom. Harry opened his own, freezing when he only saw one textbook resting at the bottom. “Shit,” was his eloquent response. He looked up, hoping someone else had forgotten their textbook as well. Sure enough, Michael Corner was also looking very panicked, his partner Terry Boot not looking the slightest bit sympathetic. 

“You will be brewing the Draught of Living Death today. I also expect you to write an essay identifying each of these four potions,” here he gestured to the four vials on his desk, “and pick one to focus on regarding ingredient interactions. Instructions are on the board. Begin.” With a final rap of his wand on the chalkboard, Snape stopped talking and the classroom filled with a flurry of motion. 

“Hermione, I forgot my book,” Harry whispered. 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed, “grab one from the cupboard then.”

Harry stood up and walked over to the storage cupboard. Michael was already walking away, clutching a relatively new looking copy of the textbook. Harry peered into the gloomy depths of the cupboard. A single, rather battered looking book rested against the far wall. Resigning himself to a sub-par potion, Harry took the book and returned to his brewing station. 

Hermione had already begun setting up their cauldron and lighting the flame beneath it. Harry quickly flipped through the book to find the right potion, numerous annotations flashing by in the margins. He stopped on the Draught of Living Death, one of the few pages blessedly free of mark-ups. He hurried off to collect the ingredients, leaving Hermione to finish the initial set up. 

The first stage of brewing went relatively well, the duo working in companionable silence. When the potion had to be left to simmer for five minutes, Harry flipped to the next page in his textbook. Another annotation in a spidery scrawl stared up at him. Harry bent down to read what it said:  _ crush with flat side of dagger, releases juice better than cutting.  _ A small arrow pointed from the writing to the words “sopophorous bean” in the instructions. Curious, Harry did just that when it came time to add the sopophorous bean to the simmering potion. As soon as all the juice was squeezed out of the beans and deposited into the cauldron, the potion turned a brilliant lilac color, identical to what the textbook said it should be. 

Harry gaped in amazement and hastily flipped back through the annotations he’d previously ignored. A large majority of them made alterations to the brewing instructions of various potions, others were about spells Harry had never heard of.

Hermione finally finished chopping up the valerian sprigs and gasped when she saw the potion. “Harry! How’d you do that?”

Harry just shrugged, not willing to show Hermione the treasure trove he’d just found. If third year was any indication, she would want to inspect the book and possibly take it to a professor. 

“Hm,” was all she said, and they continued brewing the potion without speaking again. Once they finished, Harry ladled a sample of the potion into a clean vial and corked it. Hermione cleaned up their station while Harry placed the vial on Snape’s desk, doing his best to ignore Snape’s vitriolic glare. 

Back at his station, Harry surreptitiously slipped the book into his bag and wiped down the table. Shouldering the bag, made heavier with the weight of the stolen book, Harry and Hermione exited the classroom. 

“That wasn’t too bad, was it?” Hermione asked anxiously. 

“The potion? No. Snape? Meaner than I’ve ever seen him.” 

“He was in a horrendously bad mood today. I wonder why?” mused Hermione. Harry could tell her exactly why, but left well enough alone.

“Defense next, yeah?” Harry said. 

“Yes!” Hermione said, perking up. “The new teacher looks much more competent than Umbridge, doesn’t she?”

“We’ll find out in about fifteen minutes.” 

Three flights of stairs later, they approached the gathered Defense students in the corridor. The crowd was much larger than the Potions one had been — only twelve students had signed up for the N.E.W.T.s in that class. Harry was gratified to see a good number of D.A. members milling about. 

The door to the D.A.D.A. classroom swung open silently, nearly missing Hannah Abbott. Harry followed Susan Bones inside, interested to see how a Reaper would decorate a classroom. 

Harry’s immediate impression was a sense of wrongness. The ambience of the room was off, as if something was fundamentally unfit. The classroom itself looked perfectly inviting; colourful tapestries hung from each wall, each depicting a battle scene in an ancient-looking art style. Floating lights had been placed above their heads at varying heights. There was a heaviness concentrated near the desk in the front of the room, though, and Harry stared at the chalk circle that had been drawn around where he thought the source of the wrongness was coming from. The desks had been pushed against the surrounding walls, and more chalk circles took up the clear semicircle that had been created. 

Side discussions could be heard in every corner of the room, all wondering where the professor was. Harry slid into a desk near the door, pulling out his Defense text and a piece of parchment and quill. He tapped the end of the quill on the parchment, still staring at the circle that did not fit with the rest.

Students began settling down, all waiting for the professor to arrive. Ron came running in then, tie askew and hair in disarray. It was clear he’d just woken up and had run to make it to class on time. He sighed in relief when he saw the professor wasn’t there yet and took the empty seat to Harry’s left. 

It happened in the blink of an eye. No invisibility cloak was removed, no spell performed. One minute Harry was staring at an empty chalk circle, the next it was occupied. The new professor stood within the circle’s confines, arms crossed and a slight smile on her lips. Her robes were open, and Harry saw she was wearing leggings and a t-shirt under the formal teacher’s robes, presumably for ease of movement. The conversation died down as more and more students noticed the new presence in the room.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Professor Semiramis Ramat and I’ll be your teacher this year. Welcome, all, to Defense Against the Dark Arts.”


	12. Spooky Scary Reapers

_September 2, 1996_

_“Hello, everyone. My name is Professor Semiramis Ramat and I’ll be your teacher this year. Welcome, all, to Defense Against the Dark Arts.”_

Complete and utter silence blanketed the classroom. No rustling of papers, no scratches of quills, no breathing, even, could be heard. Everyone and everything had frozen still, all eyes unblinkingly staring at the Professor. For a brief moment, Harry wondered if time itself had paused, if all the world was stuck in this vacuum of silence. Nature abhors a vacuum, though, and as all things must, it came to an end. Sound exploded back into the room all at once, loud mutters arising from the congregated students.

Harry remained silent. A flicker of pleasure appeared in the shadows of the Reaper's eyes, retreating just as quickly as it had appeared. Her gaze darted to Harry for a split second, appraising him. Harry automatically straightened in his seat, wanting to be found worthy of whatever she was looking for. Without acknowledging him further, she took one smooth step forward, carrying her body out of the white circle she'd been standing in. 

Sliding her right hand behind her back, she retrieved her wand. To the untrained eye, it appeared as if the wand had simply been held between her shoulder blades, presumably supported by an unseen sheath. To Harry, however, he saw a brief displacement of air shimmer behind her neck before a thin rod of wood appeared in her hand. He'd had to become good at observing his surroundings. Knowing what was happening around him meant the difference between getting walloped by his uncle's broad hand or stepping just out of reach, between getting hit by a curse or sliding to the side so it harmlessly passed him by.

The newly named Semiramis Ramat silenced the class with a deafening bang issuing from the faintly glowing tip of her wand - pine, Harry realized, as he examined the unusually light coloured shaft. 

“I trust you’re all paying attention now? Good.” Wand disappearing up her sleeve, the Professor stepped back into the circle. “Right, I’ve only got a year with you lot, so let’s make the most of it. I don’t expect perfection, but I _do_ expect effort.” 

A glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye made Harry look toward the back of the classroom, where a visibly nervous Michael Corner was raising his hand. 

“Yes?” Professor Ramat said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Er, you said you’re only staying for a year. You don’t plan to stay longer?” Michael asked, his voice unconvincingly calm. 

“That is generally what one means by that, yes,” was the dry response, causing several around the room to chuckle and Michael to sink further down into his seat. “I’m afraid my employer is only loaning me to Hogwarts for the year, then it’s back to the same old soul-crushing job as always,” she joked, eliciting more laughter. Eyes wide, Harry snorted into his elbow, hardly believing her brazenness. 

“As N.E.W.T. students, you should all be familiar with the practice of dueling, yes?” Nodding heads answered her questions. Recovering from the shock of Professor Ramat’s entrance, the DA members looked slightly more confident. Harry had worked them hard last year and now they’d get a chance to show that knowledge off. 

“Excellent, excellent, we’ll be practicing that today. There should be enough of you for twelve pairs,” she said, gesturing toward the parallel rows of circles on the floor, “each of you get one circle. Once you step in, you cannot leave until your opponent is incapacitated. How you achieve that end is up to you. Six feet of room to move around in should be enough. All you need is your wand, go ahead and pair off.”

The students rose as one, wands appearing from sleeves and holsters. Harry stood as well, gripping his holly wand tight.

“Psst, Harry, you and me?” Ron looked at Harry with hope in his eyes.

“One more thing!” The Professor called out over the din. “Your partner may not be in the same House as you.” A collective groan rose at that, disgruntled students shooting glares at the Professor, who for her part looked very entertained. Harry felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to duel Ron, they hadn’t been on the best of terms lately. Instead, he ended up across from Terry, who grinned at him from his circle while bouncing on the balls of his feet. Looking down at the chalk line as he stepped over it, Harry noticed that the white line emitted a brief, warm silver glow and became a solid grey as soon as he was completely within its confines.

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, your circles are no longer white. I’ve added a trick of my own to them; you physically cannot cross the border while your duel is in progress. It’s not that I don’t trust you all to keep to the rules… actually, that’s exactly why.” Professor Ramat shrugged, grinning unrepentantly. “Make sure you’re in the proper stance, it’ll make it harder for your partner to hit you. Like so…” 

The Professor quickly shifted her stance; her left leg came forward, the right went behind. Her hands clenched into fists and her expression became fierce, the corners of her lips pulling up in a near growl. In that moment, Harry understood how this woman had become a Reaper, one of Death’s favored. Every line, every curve of her body screamed danger, screamed that you’d best not cross her or she might hunt you down and gleefully rip into you just as she’d rip into a particularly delicious meal. Pine wand back in hand, a bright purple jet of light burst forth and slammed into a target that had appeared just above Susan Bones’ head. 

In the quiet that followed, she said,” Angling your body back like this presents less surface area as a target. You should also be able to move more agily from this position.” She relaxed the stance then, vanishing the punctured target. “Sorry about that, Susan.” The girl in question mumbled that it was okay, still a little shaken. 

“All right, no lethal spells, no intentionally causing harm, no blood if you can avoid it, are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Your circle will release you upon the conclusion of your duel. Return to the seat behind you once it has. Begin!” 

Harry turned away and faced Terry, eager to duel. Every year when the Hogwarts Express carried him back to the tender mercies of the Dursley’s, his magic vociferously protested, manifesting in an eternal itch that could never be sated until Harry returned to Hogwarts. Upon his return, using his magic once more felt freeing, like he was feeding a fire in him that rose higher with every spell until using his magic came as easy as breathing to him. Harry knew he’d never tire of casting, never tire of watching objects defy the laws of physics and gravity on a daily basis. He’d never lost that childlike sense of wonder he’d felt seeing a half-giant casually light a fire in the fireplace of a crumbling shack in the middle of the sea, and Harry supposed that was one of the few things he could thank the Dursleys for. 

The pair sketched a bow toward each other, secret smiles passing between them. Each member of the DA knew everyone else’s fighting style, a consequence of spending so many hours in the Room of Requirement together. Terry was a rather playful dueler, he enjoyed toying with his opponent before landing the final blow. He was also someone who liked moving around the battlefield as often as he could, which is why Harry knew he would likely struggle with the circles. 

“ _Expelliarmus_ !” Harry cast, watching Terry neatly sidestep the blue spell. Terry returned the favor with an _Incarcerous_ and they continued in this vein for a minute or so, simply feeling each other out. Harry noted Terry’s wince when, while dodging a _Depulso_ , his foot hit the edge of the circle he stood in. _Smart of her to cause the barrier to shock us._

Tiring of the slow pace, Harry decided to use one of the spell chains he’d devised over the summer. Quickly sifting through his mental list, the majority were discarded for being too violent. He’d designed them to take down a Death Eater after all, not a classmate. 

“ _Impedimenta, Petrificus Totalus, Incarcerous, Stupefy, Expelliarmus!_ ” The spate of spells jetted from his wand tip and Harry nearly smiled at Terry’s obvious panic. Terry couldn’t dodge as he clearly wanted to since Harry had made sure to aim each spell at a different area of Terry’s circle, knowing that his first instinct would be to move out of the way. 

“ _Protego!_ ” Terry yelped, the blue shield crackling to life just in time for Harry’s first spell to slam into it. 

Rather than wait for Terry to drop the shield, Harry went for the brute force approach. _Might as well, it’s not like I’ve got anyone else to fight._

“ _Bombarda!_ ” muttered Harry, sending another hailstorm of curses toward Terry. The man in question doubled down on his shield, gripping his wand with both hands. As each _Bombarda_ impacted the blue light, the shield emitted a loud, gong-like sound, drawing the attention of those who’d already finished their duels. 

The seventh _Bombarda_ was the limit for Terry, his _Protego_ shattered under the pressure and Harry immediately seized his chance while Terry was still reeling from the backlash. 

“ _Flipendo!_ ” 

Terry was blasted backwards, sliding completely out of his circle. He managed to roll to a stop just before he would’ve crashed against the desks against the wall. Registering the conclusion of the duel, both Harry and Terry’s circles lit up and returned to their original white colour. 

Still breathing hard from the adrenaline rush, Harry pocketed his wand and helped Terry up from where he’d collapsed. 

“You all right, mate?” He asked, watching Terry dust himself off. 

“You kidding?” Terry snorted, “That could’ve been much worse! Good job, Harry.” Glad that Terry didn’t hold anything against him, they shook hands and Harry retreated to his side of the room. 

Hermione and Padma were still going strong, as were Draco and Anthony Goldstein. Ron was sitting a few chairs away from Harry, nursing a red welt on his forearm. Harry was privately glad that Ernie had landed a hit on Ron, though Ernie could also stand to be taken down a peg or two. 

Up at the front of the room, Professor Ramat was lounging back in her chair, feet up on her empty desk. She looked immensely entertained and Harry couldn’t blame her, duels were fun to watch. Her lips were quirked up into a half smile, which only fed the air of mischievousness about her. 

Harry looked back to the two duels still in progress just in time to witness Padma just barely duck out of the path of an _Incarcerous,_ only to step straight into an Expelliarmus. Her wand went flying across the room, rolling to a stop next to Harry’s foot. Hermione smugly smiled at her victory, returning to her seat without saying another word to Padma. Harry stooped down to retrieve Padma’s wand, tossing it back to her with an apologetic shrug. 

“Thanks, Harry.” Padma said, giving Harry a small smile. 

  
  


With that, everyone’s attention was on the last pair standing. Draco was beginning to look frustrated with Anthony, while Anthony looked as if he was having the time of his life. Draco’s aim was steadily getting worse as Anthony continually deflected his curses, returning fire easily. Once an _Impedimenta_ flew by Anthony a foot to his right he evidently decided to end the fight, disarming Draco with a well placed _Expelliarmus_. 

“All right you lot, good job!” Professor Ramat called out, swinging her feet off her desk and standing up. “Hopefully you noticed some things about your partner’s fighting style. We’re going to duel once more, same partners, and I want you to see if you can use what you noticed against your partner. Same rules, no harm, no blood, am I understood?” She asked, pinning a few Slytherins with a glare. A muttered “Yes, ma’am,” answered her question and she gestured for the second round to begin. 

The second duel lasted longer than the first had now that both Terry and Harry had gotten warmed up. Ultimately, Harry managed to hit Terry with a trip jinx and landed an _Incarcerous_ on his torso after the barriers failed to return to white once Terry was on the floor. Terry popped right back up with a smile on his face and managed to make Harry laugh with his infectious energy. 

As far as he could tell, the outcomes of the duels were the same as they had been the first time around. Harry was quite proud that the DA members in the class usually won their duels, proving that he’d managed to teach them _something_ in those months they’d been sneaking around.

“A couple things before I let you go,” the Professor said once everyone had settled back down, “those of you who held the position I showed you had an easier time of it. Also, nearly all of you have to work on adapting your strategy to a change in terrain. A lot of you went in with the mindset that you’d be able to fight the same way you would in an open field with zero obstacles. I’m not going to assign an essay, I’d just like you to think about that. You’re free to go now.” Given the green light, there was a mad scramble as students grabbed their bags and made their way out of the classroom. 

“Oh, and Harry, I’d like to talk to you.” Professor Ramat called out to him over the crowd. Having expected something of the sort, Harry sat back down. Ron and Hermione paused, looking back at Harry with puzzled expressions. He shooed them out the door, mouthing that he’d meet them in the hallway once he was done. 

Once Ernie and Justin left, the door swung shut behind them, leaving Harry and the presumed Reaper alone. 

“Ah, Harry Potter,” the Professor murmured, reclining back in her chair. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Harry fidgeted in his seat, feeling awkward with that lead-in. “I reckon it’s hard not to.” He offered.

“Oh, certainly,” she agreed, “especially when your boss won’t shut up about you.” 

“Your boss?”

“Something tells me you already know who my boss is.” Professor Ramat stated, cocking an eyebrow.

Harry nervously swallowed. Here was his chance to confirm his theory. Well, either confirm it or come off as mental in front of the new Professor. “Death.” 

“Got it in one. Like I said, he won’t shut up about you,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Why?” Harry asked, morbidly curious. “Professor.” He hastily added, not wanting to disrespect her. 

“Oh please, call me Rami,” Rami said, waving off the honorific, “He keeps an eye on you, you know, pops in every now and then. He’s insanely proud of what you’ve done so far. He took a big risk when he interfered with the going ons of mortals and he’s thrilled that it's paying off so far.”

“Right,” said Harry slowly, trying to grapple with the idea that a primordial deity was proud of _him,_ “so what happens now?”

“Now? Now, we start getting rid of Lord Voldie.” Rami stated matter-of-factly, grinning wildly. 

“Yeah, I got that. But how?” 

“Oh right, right, my boss told you about Horcruxes, yeah?”

“Briefly.”

“Good enough. He’s got six of ‘em out there, seven including you.”

“Hang on,” Harry sputtered, “Death said there were six including me.”

“It turns out Voldie had a busy summer. He made one more, his snake, Nagini.” Rami said grimly. Horcruxes were just as big of an affront to her as they were to her boss, and it rankled a bit that she’d have to rely on a mortal kid to get rid of them for her. 

“Great, just fantastic.” Harry slumped in his seat, mentally cursing Voldemort’s homicidal tendencies. 

“So that’s the bad news. The good news is that we can’t go after them for a while, we’ve got to train you up first.” Rami said, causing Harry to perk up.

“How so?” He asked.

“You’ve got a lot of untapped power in you right now. You’ve already seen some hints of it, yes?”

Harry paused, thinking back to when he’d first stepped foot on Hogwarts grounds. He’d seen images, flashes of the past relating to the House Ghosts. “Yes, I have,” Harry admitted.

“That was all involuntary, we need to get you to the point where you can consciously tap into your powers.”

“That sounds great and all, but what exactly are my powers?” Harry asked. Death hadn’t given him many details before disappearing - literally. 

“Let’s see, you can heal soul damage, you can look at the life of a ghost who hasn’t passed on - you’ve got to be in the same place for that though,” she added as she ticked off each point on her fingers, “you can talk to ghosts who have passed on as long as you’re at their burial site, you can manipulate soul energy, you can glean some surface details about a living person’s life, you’re immune to the killing curse - but you can be killed in other ways, so don’t get cocky - and you can kill someone if they annoy you,” she finished, grinning. 

“I assume you mean through a method other than the killing curse?”

“Well, think about it. A dementor sucks the soul out of people, you can manipulate souls, you’re pretty much the human equivalent of the Dementor’s Kiss!” Rami said. “You don’t have to kiss people though, don’t worry.”

“That’s such a comfort.” Harry deadpanned. 

“I thought it was,” Rami grumbled. “Anyway, I was thinking you could stay after class every Monday and we could work on training up some of those skills.”

“That’s fine,” Harry agreed. 

“Excellent! I’ll see you next week for our first session. You’re free to go join your friends, who are valiantly trying to eavesdrop by the way.” Rami flicked her fingers at the door, which opened to reveal Ron and Hermione hovering by the now open doorway, obviously trying to listen in. 

“Please collect your friends, Harry,” Rami smiled in amusement at the clear embarrassment of the trio. Harry just sighed and went to do as she said.

  
  


“I’ll see you three back in class on Thursday,” she directed to Ron and Hermione, both of whom were sporting brilliantly red cheeks. Harry hustled them both down the hall, wincing when the door slammed shut behind them.

Would his friends ever learn?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/17/20  
> Hello! I realize I haven't updated for a while, due to finals, but I do have some news. I've made a discord server for those who read my fics and want to discuss them outside of AO3. There are five fics (three of which are unpublished) that are on this server. There is also a general discussion channel for anything you may want to talk about as well as spoiler channels for each fic. This is where I will be sharing my thoughts on the plot and also where I will ask for any input on my ideas!
> 
> Since I just made this today (Dec 17) there are very few people. I hope you will consider joining!  
> https://discord.gg/PhguAGRTPs


	13. The Bloody Baron

_September 2, 1996_

That evening found Harry on his bed, flicking through the Potions textbook he’d taken from the cupboard. He’d attached a mild sticking charm to the curtains, unwilling to let his roommates see the book. As far as he knew, they were all in the common room playing Exploding Snap at the moment.

As he went through the pages, Harry noted any particularly useful brewing modifications and spells he didn’t recognize down on a separate piece of parchment. Snape would surely notice if he kept the book any longer, so he planned to return it when he had Double Potions the next day. Even if questioned, Harry would simply say that he had forgotten to put it back when class had ended. 

Something was familiar about the handwriting scrawled across the pages, but it didn’t click until Harry found a single sentence written on the bottom of the back cover: _This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince._

The small, spiky letters were a dead giveaway; he’d spent five years reading the man’s scathing commentary on his essays and squinting to make sense of his written instructions on a chalkboard. Harry gave a disdainful snort, Snape was the last person he’d imagined would take on a pompous nickname in his school days. That sort of behavior fell more under the Marauder’s purview. 

Then again, this was someone who had willingly put himself into the service of the man with the most pompous nickname of all: Voldemort. Vol de mort. Flight of death. Harry still remembered Fleur’s disgusted explanation of the name’s meaning. Apparently the French didn’t take too kindly to their language being co-opted for use in a madman’s moniker. 

Harry snapped the book shut, having gotten all the information he could from it. As reluctant as he was to admit it, he had to acknowledge that Snape had been a brilliant student. It was easy to see how he’d become the youngest Potions Master in centuries. 

Climbing off of his bed, Harry tossed the weathered book into his bag, along with his newer copy. The Charms and Herbology textbooks followed and with the addition of spare parchment and quills, Harry closed the bag and collapsed back onto the mattress. 

Meeting a bona fide Reaper didn’t rank too high on Harry’s list of “Weird Shit That Keeps Happening To Me”, but there was some stiff competition. Harry still had dozens of questions for the Reaper swirling around in his brain, but he’d have to wait until Thursday to ask them. He still didn’t know how Rami had managed to get into the school, nor did he fully know what a Reaper _was_ or what they did for Death. Oh, he knew they reaped souls, that much was clear, but he wanted more details. It was only natural to want more information on the deity who had screwed up his life in more ways than one and didn’t seem repentant in the least.

Shoving his chaotic thoughts aside, Harry dropped off to sleep. He could write his Potions essay tomorrow.

* * *

_September 3, 1996_

A bleary-eyed Harry Potter sat at the Gryffindor table, mechanically eating his breakfast. He’d worn his rattiest clothes since he had Herbology first thing, followed by double Potions. The rest of the week looked to be much more promising, he just had to get through today. 

“Morning, Harry,” came a familiar Irish brogue. Harry looked up to see Seamus had joined him

“Morning,” he mumbled back. 

“Er...listen,” Seamus said, fidgeting nervously, “We haven’t got a chance to talk since last year, yeah? Since the Ministry thing. I just wanted to apologize for my behavior back then. Mam wasn’t all that keen on you and Dumbledore saying Voldemort was back.”

“And now?” Harry asked cautiously. 

“Well, she’s changed her tune, hasn’t she?” Seamus grimaced. “We had a bit of a row about me coming back this year as well. She said it’s dangerous, I said sod that. I was horrible to you last year and I reckon I’ve got to make it up to you. Can’t do that if I’m not here.”

“Seamus, you already apologized,” Harry pointed out.

“Aye,” Seamus agreed, “but guilt goes a long way. Especially with proof.”

Harry sat back in his seat. Seamus had more than absolved himself of any wrongdoing by turning up for the D.A. meetings, but had never apologized to Harry himself, at least not in so many words. Harry was pleased that Seamus had offered a real apology and knew he was truly regretting his harsh words of a year prior. 

“Mate, you’ve got nothing to worry about. We’re good,” Harry said. 

“Brilliant! See you in Herbology,” Seamus grinned, clearly relieved. He offered a parting wave and went to join Dean and Neville further down the table. Harry shook his head at his antics and went back to his food.

Hermione soon took Seamus’ place, nose already in her Herbology textbook. Ron came down five minutes before breakfast ended and shoveled food into his mouth like a human vacuum. Once the bell signaling the end of breakfast had rung, Harry swung his bag over his shoulder and followed his friends out of the hall. 

* * *

Trudging back up to the castle after Herbology, Harry was in a rather foul mood. Since everyone in sixth year had qualified for the Herbology N.E.W.T. — even Crabbe and Goyle, much to his surprise — the class was held in Greenhouse Four, the largest of the five on the grounds. Even with the extra room to move around in, Harry had still managed to trip and fall into a bucket of dragon dung while trying to escape the Venomous Tentacula’s reach. Malfoy and his cronies had taken great pleasure in laughing at him. 

Ignoring Ron and Hermione calling after him, Harry went straight to his dorm for a shower and change of clothes before heading to Potions. Once he was clean and feeling much more human, he double checked that he had both Potions textbooks before leaving the tower.

Harry tugged his robes tighter around him as he descended the stairs to the dungeons. It was always drafty, but this was something else. Something new. The corridors were strangely empty and Harry checked his watch. He was early for class by ten minutes.

The chill suddenly became more pronounced and Harry looked up from his watch. The Bloody Baron was floating down the corridor towards him, and as they locked eyes, Harry’s vision greyed out. 

He was no longer standing in the hallway of the dungeons. He was in a small wooden cabin, furniture crammed into the cramped room haphazardly. A small woven tapestry of abstract colors hung on the wall above a tiny bed, upon which a woman sat cradling her newborn child. 

The scene blurred and Harry was now standing in a field, watching the same woman teach a small boy the basics of sword fighting. The scenes, snapshots of life, blurred by faster and faster until Harry was only in each moment for a split second before moving on. Despite the speed, Harry found himself understanding each moment and how it fit into the larger whole of the boy’s life. 

Harry was internally panicking, he didn’t know what had prompted this or how to break himself out of it. All he could do was stand there and watch as the boy grew up into a fit young man, travelling to Hogwarts — albeit a Hogwarts much newer and more clean than Harry had ever seen it — and learning all sorts of magic that Harry didn’t recognize. He was clearly enamoured with another young woman there and Harry watched as his painfully awkward overtures fell flat time and time again. His heart went out to the man, his pain was evident and yet he kept at it. He reminded him of another young man he’d witnessed chasing a fiery redhead who wanted nothing to do with him. 

The two progressed through their years at Hogwarts until the girl seemingly snapped, shoving a silver tiara with a giant blue sapphire embedded on the front into a bag and running away from Hogwarts with it. The boy soon followed, desperately tracking her as she fled. With a jolt of recognition, Harry realized that he’d seen this very scene when he’d first entered Hogwarts at the beginning of the year. 

Harry watched as he finally happened upon her camp deep within a forest. 

He watched as they fought, voices raised and spittle flying. 

He watched as the boy took out his wand, furiously casting a spell that produced a brilliant white bolt of light heading straight for the girl’s chest. 

He watched as the girl, taken by surprise, did not move out of the way. 

He watched as the spell ripped a hole through her sternum, exiting through her spine and dissipating when it hit a tree. 

He watched as the girl’s last words died on her lips as her body crumpled to the ground. 

He watched as the boy, horrified at what he’d done, turned his wand against himself and joined his would-be lover in death. 

He watched as pale shades of the star-crossed lovers rose from their bodies and, bowing to each other, set off together on a path unseen.

Shaken, Harry looked at the retreating backs of the new ghosts as the vision faded away and the stone hallway of Hogwarts returned, as did the Baron’s piercing gaze.

“Alexander…” he whispered. 

The Baron’s eyes widened, jaw nearly dropping. Harry didn’t have time to enjoy the shocked expression on the ghost’s face before the Baron was gesturing him into an unused classroom. Harry closed the door and put up a silencing charm before turning to face an irate Bloody Baron. Harry squirmed despite himself. A ghost could do him no harm, but the Baron had had centuries to perfect the art of scaring students.

“How do you know that name?” the Baron demanded. 

“Um...it’s easier to just show you,” Harry admitted. With slightly shaking fingers, he undid his tie and pulled down the corner of his shirt to reveal the silver lotus that had shaken up and remade his world. 

“Merlin, Morgana and Maeve,” the Baron swore, drifting closer to examine the lotus. “I thought the lot of you had died out.”

Putting aside his confusion about the unfamiliar swear word, Harry shrugged and did up his tie again. 

“From what I know, we had. Then Death took a shine to me and here I am,” Harry splayed his hands helplessly. “I reckon I know about as much as you at this point.”

“So the reason you knew my name…”

“Is the reason I know about your entire life, Alexander Byron.”

“Well, hell,” the Baron summed up. “Helena?”

“Yep,” Harry confirmed. He was still reeling from the knowledge that one of the founder’s children was still at the castle, although a little less alive than she would have preferred. He planned to fully freak out later, but right now he had questions to ask and answer. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy, sir, I’ve not got a handle on everything yet.”

“Call me Alex,” the Baron offered, “I daresay you’ve earnt the right to it.”

“Thank you, Alex. Like I said, I don’t have any control over my powers and I don’t have the foggiest idea of how to stop things like this happening,” said Harry, nervously shifting from foot to foot. 

Alexander looked down at the boy in front of him. He looked lost, as if he had been sure of his place in the world, only to have it and everything he knew ripped out from under him. Alex felt strangely protective towards him. He himself certainly knew a thing or two about being lost. Besides, the lad had evidently witnessed his entire life, including its rather inglorious end, and still stood before him holding a civil conversation. 

“If you like, I could help you with your issues. I wasn’t a spirit elemental, but my mother was.”

“Oh,” Harry was startled, he hadn’t expected this from the man, “thank you, but I’ve already got a tutor. The new Defence Professor.”

“The Reaper?” Alex raised an eyebrow. He’d known what the woman was from the moment she’d set foot in the school. He had wondered what business a Reaper would have teaching Defence, and now it looked like the answer was right in front of him. 

Harry nodded. 

“Yeah, that’s her. You could come along though?” Harry didn’t know how Rami would take him inviting the ghost to his lessons, but he didn’t want to offend Alex and ruin the tentative friendship that seemed to be forming. 

“I’ll be there, lad,” Alex smiled. “Now, I think you’ve got a class to get to?”

“Bloody hell,” Harry looked down at his watch and squeaked, he only had a minute to get to Potions! 

Quickly dismantling the silencing charm, Harry scrambled out of the room, throwing a quick “Thanks Alex” over his shoulder. 

The Bloody Baron watched Harry run down the corridor. He knew who he was, of course. He’d heard the rumors and had the majority inadvertently confirmed by Dumbledore while he was innocently eavesdropping on several of the man’s meetings with his secret cabal. 

“Good luck, Harry.”

* * *

At dinner that night, Harry had dug out some parchment from his bag and begun to outline his potions essay. He’d gotten another essay in Transfiguration and he was relieved that none of them were due until the next week. 

In double Potions, he’d managed to slip the Half-blood Prince’s textbook back into its cupboard under the pretense of gathering ingredients from a neighboring cabinet. Snape was none the wiser and Harry was congratulating himself for a job well-done. 

“Potter.” Harry looked up to see Katie Bell sliding into the seat next to him. “I’ve booked the pitch for Saturday. Tryouts are at eleven, but I’ve asked all of the old team to get there early.”

“Got it,” Harry replied distractedly. 

“Harry.” She poked him in the ribs. 

“Katie.”

“At least _try_ to not get detention this time,” Katie sighed. 

“Oi, that was one time!” Harry protested.

“If you say so,” Katie laughed, standing back up. She went back to her seat, her job done. 

“Just think, Harry, you could’ve been Captain and avoided all that,” Ron moaned. 

“What’s done is done, Ron. How come she didn’t say anything to you?” Harry asked. Ron had been Keeper last year and he’d assumed that Ron would be trying out this year as well. 

“She caught me during my free period. I reckon we might have another Angelina on our hands,” Ron mock whispered. 

“And here I thought no one could be worse than ol’ Ollie,” chuckled Harry. 

“No, Oliver’s still in a league of his own,” Ron chortled.

“Too true, mate, too true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/27/20  
> Hello! I realize I haven't updated for a while, due to school and real life, but I do have some news. I've made a discord server for those who read my fics and want to discuss them outside of AO3. There are five fics (three of which are unpublished) that are on this server. There is also a general discussion channel for anything you may want to talk about as well as spoiler channels for each fic. This is where I will be sharing my thoughts on the plot and also where I will ask for any input on my ideas!
> 
> Since I just made this server a week ago, there are very few people. I hope you will consider joining!  
> https://discord.gg/WCJaK7RZ2C
> 
> In addition, there is an issue that I have been wondering how to resolve. This story is currently tagged as Blaise Zabini/Harry Potter, and that won't change, but I am considering switching it to Blaise Zabini/Harry Potter/Dean Thomas since Dean will have his own part to play in the plot, which you've already seen the beginning of. My concern is that this switch would throw off people who read this story expecting one relationship and now getting a different one. So, please let me know what you think about adding Dean to the relationship, I genuinely don't know which direction I want to go with that.


	14. An Unusual Trio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of r*pe
> 
> As you can probably see from the changed tag, I've decided to go ahead and make this story a Blaise/Harry/Dean. Thank you to everyone who let me know your thoughts! 
> 
> I'm going to start adding the day of the week to dates in chapters from here on out just to help me keep my head straight. I might go back and fix past chapters to reflect that; it all depends on whether I actually remember to do that or not. 
> 
> This chapter marks the end of the "world building" section of the story, from here on out we'll be getting heavily into the plot and start building the relationships with Blaise and Dean. 
> 
> This chapter is about 1k words longer than my usual average. I hope that longer chapters will soon become the norm instead of the exception. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me thus far!

_ Thursday, September 5, 1996 _

Harry gratefully sank into his seat in the Defense classroom and rested his head on the desk for a moment. Double Charms had been brutal; Flitwick had taught them the  _ Defodio  _ spell and proceeded to hand out blocks of stone for them to carve into various shapes. His first attempts had been a bit overpowered and he’d cut several long gouges into the table before he got a feel for the amount of power the spell required. Even then, his pyramid had still come out looking like it had been melted. An artist he was not. 

Ron and Hermione settled into their seats on either side of him and he looked up, watching Hermione take out her note-taking supplies. Ron looked just as tired as Harry felt, and they knew Defense wasn’t likely to help. 

“Right, good afternoon!” Professor Ramat declared, closing the classroom door with a flick of her wand. “Today will consist of a discussion followed by putting theory into practice.

The room filled with the sound of rustling parchment as students put their wands away and pulled out quills and ink. 

Once satisfied that everyone was prepared, the Professor continued speaking. “Now that you are N.E.W.T. students, the coursework and spells will be of a remarkably higher caliber than any you’ve worked with before. Before we can get to that though, we must start with the basics.”

“Who can tell me what advantages nonverbal casting affords you, if any?”

Hermione’s hand was instantly in the air, followed by a fair number of the Ravenclaws. After a moment's hesitation, Harry raised his own hand. 

“Mr. Potter?”

“Casting nonverbally gives you the advantage of surprise. Without the audible indication of a spell being cast, your opponent loses that second of advance warning. Also, not using an incantation makes the spell used harder to identify,” Harry answered. 

Professor Ramat smiled at him in approval and Harry flushed, not used to speaking out in class so confidently. “Absolutely correct. Nonverbal casting gives you the element of surprise. However, the difficulty of casting without an incantation is not to be underestimated,” she said. 

“Incantations aren’t just funny words you say to make things happen; they help shape the intent of your magic. When you get down to it, they are merely crutches, though effective crutches to be sure. The magic you use when you cast a spell takes its direction from the incantation and from your own intent,” Professor Ramat twirled her wand between her fingers as she spoke. “Casting nonverbally means that you’re only left with the force of your own will to exert upon your magic. It requires mental concentration and the ability to keep a clear head on and off the battlefield. I might add that those who practice Occlumency generally have an easier time casting nonverbal spells. So, the result — Yes, Mr. Macmillan?”

“Excuse me, but what is Occlumency, Professor?” Ernie asked.

Professor Ramat stopped twirling her wand. “You’ve not covered Occlumency?” she asked. Looking around at all the shaking heads that greeted her inquiry, she sighed. 

“Occlumency is the art of defending one’s mind against those who would wish to access it. It’s a fairly obscure branch of magic, so I suppose I’m not that shocked it’s not been mentioned before now.”

For his part, Harry wasn’t too surprised that no one except himself, Hermione, and Ron were familiar with the practice. He’d gotten the impression from Snape that the number of accomplished Occlumens and Legilmens out there were rather small. 

“Occlumency and Legilimency are twin branches of magic. Occlumens can defend their mind from external attacks and Legilimens can attack others’ minds and ‘read’ them, if you will.” Professor Ramat continued. 

“Will you be teaching us Occlumency, Professor?” Ernie blurted. 

The corners of Professor Ramat’s mouth quirked up. “I’m afraid we don’t have the time to dedicate to it this year. Learning Occlumency is a process unique to each individual. If you’re interested in more information, I’m sure you can find some books on it in the library.”

Clapping her hands together, she stepped around to the front of her desk and perched on the top. “As you probably guessed, we’ll be practicing nonverbal casting today. There’s not much in the way of instructions or tips that I can give you. Nonverbal casting is quite literally just about intent and concentration. The more you focus, the more success you will have.”

The chalk circles from the previous class suddenly appeared on the floor. An appreciative murmur sounded from the students; the Professor hadn’t drawn her wand or said a single word to make it happen. 

“I’ve deactivated the barrier and shock features of the circles, so don’t worry about that. They’re just for spacing reasons this time. I want you all to split off into pairs. One partner will cast nonverbal low-level jinxes at the other partner, who will be casting a nonverbal _Prot_ __ego_.  _ When I say ‘low-level’, I mean  _ Flipendo _ ,  _ Impedimenta _ ,  _ Rictumsempra _ , things like that.”

“Same rules as last time, no drawing blood, nothing dangerous. Remember your stances! Also, your partner may not be in your House, nor can they be the same partner you had on Monday. Pair off!”

  
  


Harry found himself facing Blaise Zabini, a quiet Slytherin he’d never spoken to. Situating themselves between Parvati Patil and Susan Bones on one side and Theo Nott and Michael Corner on the other, the duo shook hands and retreated to their respective circles. 

“Do you want me to shield first?” Blaise offered. Shrugging, Harry accepted and began to cast all the jinxes he could think of at the Italian.

* * *

_ Damn that bastard _ , Harry thought bitterly as the students packed up and left the classroom. Zabini had proven to be a worthy opponent. He’d shattered Harry’s wobbly shield on the fifth spell and caught him on the ribs with what he assumed was a  _ Furnunculus  _ Jinx. He now had a painful boil throbbing where the spell had connected. Zabini had apologized and seemed sincere, which made it much harder to be resentful of him. 

Harry had found that nonverbal spells were certainly not a strength of his. None of his shields lasted past the fifth jinx Zabini tossed at it and he could only get spells up to the third year level to work properly. He had tried to clear his mind like Snape had told him to all last year, but failed utterly. He simply had too much to think and worry about. 

Harry shoved the parchment with his scrawled notes on it into his bag, followed by his quill and a capped ink pot. Shouldering his bag, he caught the Professor’s eye. She gestured for him to stay behind and Harry, even more weary and tired than he’d been after Charms, heavily sat back down. 

Hermione looked down at him in confusion. “Harry?”

“You can go back to the common room if you want, I just want to ask the Professor a question.” Harry said, hoping she’d buy it. 

“Right...come on then, Ron,” she said, narrowing her eyes slightly. 

The door slammed shut behind the pair and Harry turned back to Rami, silently asking for an explanation. 

“Sorry for holding you back again,” Rami dropped into the seat next to him, “it’s just that Mr. Macmillan reminded me of something I meant to ask you; do you have any experience with Occlumency?”

Harry couldn’t keep himself from wincing, his lessons with Snape were still a sore topic. 

“In a manner of speaking. I took private Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape last year before he kicked me out,” he answered.

“How did those lessons go?” Rami asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Er, not well,” Harry admitted, “Professor Snape just told me to clear my mind and cast  _ Legilimens  _ at me for an hour each week.”

“He did what?” A deep voice thundered. Startled, Harry looked around, spotting the Bloody Baron’s pearlescent body rising through the floor. His face was contorted into a mask of fury. Glancing back at Rami for an explanation, Harry saw that she looked equally horrified. 

“That...that…” she sputtered, as if she couldn’t find a word bad enough to apply to Snape.

Harry was beyond confused at this point. “What’s the big deal? And why is Alex here?” he asked helplessly. 

Noticing that Rami was still lost for words, Alex spoke up, “Harry, repeatedly breaking into an unprepared mind like he did is never okay,” the ghost’s lip curled up in a grimace, “it’s tantamount to mind rape.”

“You can’t practice Occlumency simply by clearing your mind. If he truly wanted to teach you, he should have been helping you build up your mindscape instead,” said Rami. “I can’t imagine what he thought he was doing,” she muttered bitterly. 

“Aye,” Alex agreed, “Occlumency isn’t an intuitive art, you can’t have a natural aptitude for it. Legilimency on the other hand, there have been some natural Legilimens out there but they’re rare.”

“Like Queenie Goldstein,” Rami put in, “Tragic, that was.” 

“Our point, Harry, is that Occlumency can’t be taught by repeated exposure to the  _ Legilimens  _ spell; you’ve got to put work into your mindscape and have it tested by someone who knows what they’re doing,” said Alex. 

Harry did not feel at all astonished to find out that Snape had not been teaching him correctly. He was, however, taken aback at the level of abhorrence the two adults displayed for his teaching methods. Being told that Snape had been essentially raping his mind made him feel a bit sick inside. 

“All right, so Snape’s a bad teacher, we knew this already,” said Harry, trying to shift the topic of conversation, “why is Alex here? I thought our elemental training was on Mondays?”

“It is, but after you and Alex encountered each other in the dungeons, he came up here to talk to me and I told him when your Defense lessons were,“ Rami explained. 

“So you don’t mind having him here?” Harry asked. He was relieved that his spur-of-the-moment invite to Alex wasn’t being rejected. 

Rami shook her head, smiling, “Not at all! I was actually going to suggest that we invite the House Ghosts to our lessons, but you beat me to it. It’s all well and good for me to give you the theory, but it’s a bit useless without some ghosts to practice with,” she said, pointing at said ghost who was now cheekily grinning and waving at Harry. “I’ve no clue why he’s here now, though.”

Alex shrugged. “I thought I’d come see if anything was going on. I can go, if you’d like,” he said, sinking through the floor slightly.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Rami said, waving off the comment. “I’m glad I held you back now. Occlumency is an extremely useful skill to learn, doubly so for you as you’ve got that link with Voldemort. I can teach you, if you want to learn.”

“Yes,” Harry said immediately. He hated having a two-way link with Voldemort permanently lodged in his head and that hate had only intensified upon finding out that the link was a byproduct of having a piece of the madman’s soul in him. 

“Fantastic! Let’s see, Monday is already for your elemental lessons...would you mind staying after on Thursdays for Occlumency? I hate to ask you to stay after every class, unless you want to do Occlumency on the weekends,” Rami mused. 

“Thursdays are fine,” Harry agreed. He was reluctant to give up any time on the weekends as he knew that he’d likely need every minute he could get for essays and practical homework. 

“I would honestly feel better knowing that you’ve got a foundation in Occlumency. Voldemort is an accomplished Legilimens and now he’s aware of your bond after the fiasco at the Ministry,” Rami admitted. 

The trio fell silent, each thinking of different atrocities perpetrated by the man who haunted most of the wizarding world’s nightmares. Harry was attempting not to dwell on thoughts of Sirius when it finally occurred to him to ask the question that had been nagging at him for a while now. 

“Rami, how did you get this job? You’re a Reaper, I would think being a Defense teacher isn’t in your job description,” asked Harry. 

“A few forged papers go a long way,” Rami laughed, and the morose mood lifted. “The goal was to make me the most qualified applicant. The papers had some embellishments, although some experience from my life before I died was added too. Dumbledore didn’t even ask me too many questions, I think he was so desperate to find a Defense teacher that he didn’t question the perfect one practically falling into his lap. 

Alex had drifted closer while Rami talked, clearly interested. “Real life experience? If you don’t mind me asking, who were you before you died?” he asked. 

“You are looking at Queen Semiramis of Assyria,” Rami said amusedly, mocking a bow as much as she could while sitting down. “I used to lead the Assyrian army into battle as queen regnant. The details are fudged a bit, but all Dumbledore needed to know was that I have experience in battle. Killed by an arrow, of all things,” she added, wrinkling her nose. 

Alex made a funny choking noise and immediately swept into an elaborate bow, holding his form as stiffly as he could. “Your Highness. Your name had all but fallen into myth and legend in my time, but your deeds were still well known,” he proclaimed.

Bewildered, Harry could only watch. He had never heard of a Queen Semiramis, leading him to assume that while her name was well known in Alex’ time, her story must have been gradually lost to time. 

Rami nearly laughed at the ghosts antics, it was a close thing. “Alexander, I haven’t used my title in millennia. Stop the formalities and join me as an equal.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Alex said, hastily standing back up. Harry thought that Alex would be blushing furiously if not for the fact that he was a ghost and incapable of such a thing. 

“As I was saying, Dumbledore hardly questioned me before handing me the job. He did ask me what I thought of Voldemort and the war, though,” she said thoughtfully. 

“What did you say?” asked Harry. 

“I told him the truth, obviously. He’s a hypocritical megalomaniac who ought to take a long walk off a short pier at the nearest opportunity,” she snorted. 

Harry considered that for a moment. Of all the words he could apply to Voldemort, none of them good, hypocritical was not one of them. He’d always viewed Voldemort as someone who said what he meant; he never lied about his aims and followed through on what he said he was going to do, often in violent and destructive ways. No, Voldemort was many things but he was not a hypocrite, and he told Rami his thoughts. 

“He’s a hypocrite, all right. It’s not common knowledge, but Lord Voldemort was born Tom Marvolo Riddle, son of Merope Gaunt, a squib, and Tom Riddle Sr, a muggle. He’s a halfblood masquerading as a pureblood Lord, when in reality he’s not got a knut to his name. All of the funding for his war came from his supporters. He spends all his time preaching the superiority of magical blood when he has the blood of a muggle and a squib running in his veins,” said Rami, clearly disgusted by the man’s actions. 

Harry gaped at his teacher, blown away by the bombshell she’d just dropped. He’d already known of Voldemort’s birth name, the Chamber of Secrets saw to that, but the revelation of his blood status was news to him. How many of his supporters knew that they were bowing and kissing the robes of a halfblood, he wondered. It couldn’t be many, the numerous avowed pureblood supremacists in his ranks would run for the hills if that fact ever came out. 

“Well,” Alex said at last, “I believe that ‘hypocrite’ is entirely accurate.”

“And then, to make matters worse,” she went on, “the bastard made Horcruxes, which no self-respecting pureblood would ever do. There’s something to be said for being raised in the magical world; children understand the importance of your magic and soul and the irreversible impact using such dark rituals can have on both.”

“Horcruxes, plural?” Alex gasped. 

“He made seven, but he thinks he’s currently got six. Two of them are gone, Harry destroyed Voldemort’s diary in his second year and Dumbledore destroyed the ring Horcrux this past summer,” Rami confirmed. 

“Hang on, Dumbledore knows about the Horcruxes?” Harry demanded. He was furious that the old man knew about the Horcruxes and had never said anything to Harry. If he believed Harry was the only one able to defeat Voldemort due to some prophecy spouted by a crackpot seer, he ought to have handed Harry the answer to killing him!

Rami gave Harry a commiserating look before answering, “Dumbledore’s done a lot of research. He’s closing in on the location of another one but most of the evidence he has is a lot of guesswork and speculation. I don’t know if he’s purposefully leaving the majority of the work to you or not, Harry.”

“Can’t you get rid of them yourself?” Alex asked almost desperately, unknowingly echoing Harry’s thoughts. Death had explained that he himself couldn’t interfere, but Harry didn’t know if those restrictions extended to Reapers. 

“Sorry,” Rami grimaced, “I can’t. Death and all of his Reapers are governed by the same rules that all the primordial deities are: no mortal interference. We’re all supposed to stay within our spheres of power and we can’t stop events once they’ve been put into motion. As Death’s servants, we only interact with mortals once they’ve died and bring their souls to the afterlife.”

Harry had never considered that all-powerful beings might have restrictions to work with as well, and hearing the frustration in Rami’s tone made him feel the slightest bit better. 

“However, not being allowed to interfere doesn’t mean that we can’t observe. That’s how Death, and by extension myself, know of the Horcruxes. Death is everywhere. You cannot escape; Death has peered into the soul of every living being on earth and found them wanting in the end,” said Rami.

Ghost and boy absorbed those words and shivered. It was rather unnerving to hear something like that stated so matter-of-factly. 

“On that note, I think it’s time you go back to your friends, Harry,” Rami said, smiling kindly at him. 

“Thank you, Professor,” said Harry, shouldering his bag and standing up. “Nice to see you again, Alex,” he added as he exited the room and closed the door behind him. 

* * *

Clambering through the portrait hole into the common room, Harry made a beeline for the stairs to his dorm. He fully intended to take a nap and worry about essays later. Two double periods in one day had thoroughly exhausted him. It was not to be, however, as Hermione spotted him and called him over to the table where she and Ron were working. Well, Hermione was working, Ron was doodling on a spare bit of parchment. 

“Hey,” Harry said, sliding into the seat across from Ron. “What’s going on?”

“Why were you gone so long?” Hermione asked instantly. 

“We got to talking,” answered Harry. It was true, they had done a lot of talking, albeit about topics Hermione had no clue about. 

“About what?” she pressed.

Harry was saved from having to answer by a house elf appearing at his elbow. 

“Er, yes?” he asked tentatively.

“This be for Mister Harry Potter, sir,” the elf squeaked, shoving a rolled up scroll of parchment tied with a ribbon at Harry and popping away. Fumbling to catch the scroll, Harry tugged on the ribbon and unrolled it. He recognized the thin, loopy handwriting immediately. 

_ Dear Harry, _

_ I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. _

_ Kindly come along to my office at 8 p.m. _

_ I hope you are enjoying your first week back at school. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

**_Albus Dumbledore_ **

_ P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops. _

Ron had finally looked up from his doodles and watched Harry read the scroll. “What’s that?” Ron asked. 

“Just Dumbledore wanting to meet with me on Saturday, that’s all,” said Harry dismissively, tucking the scroll into his bag. 

“Oh,” said Ron, losing interest and returning to his sketches. 

Hermione, however, would not be so easily swayed. “About what?” 

“I don’t know, Dumbledore hardly tells me anything,” Harry bit out. He immediately regretted it when he saw Hermione reel back as if she’d been slapped. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m just exhausted from class, I’m going to go take a nap.” 

With that, Harry abruptly left the table and went up the stairs to his dorm to do exactly that. 

Hermione watched until she was sure Harry was out of earshot before turning to Ron and asking, “Do you think Harry’s been a bit different lately?”

“Hm?” Ron said distractedly. He was trying to draw a game of Quidditch but couldn’t quite get the wings right on the Golden Snitch. 

“Ron!” snapped Hermione, “I don’t know what’s going on with Harry. He’s not talking with us and he’s got his nose in a book half the time and he’s actually doing his homework the night before it’s due.”

“Sounds like you,” Ron snorted. “That’s not such a bad thing, Hermione.”

Hermione huffed and returned to her Ancient Runes homework, still pondering the mystery that Harry had become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably know the drill by now, but I've got a discord server! It's still pretty small, but fun. You can choose to get pinged whenever I post a new chapter and opt into getting spoilers from me on future content for any of my three in progress fics (When Spirits Call, The Black Fortune, and Sundering Seas).
> 
> https://discord.gg/WCJaK7RZ2C


	15. Meddling Old Codgers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I am seemingly incapable of keeping a regular update schedule. 
> 
> This is the first chapter that is beta'd! Corvus_of_the_Night_Skies, gattoartico, and acourtofbooksandtea have all volunteered to help fix my mistakes. I am incredibly grateful to them for making my words flow better and picking out spelling mistakes (and some plot errors).
> 
> I have also had it pointed out to me that I neglected to have the goblins mention Harry's inheritance from Sirius. That's on me, I completely forgot about it. I will be reworking that chapter to include Harry being made aware of what all he got from Sirius. Thank you to those who reminded me of that!
> 
> TW: mentions of r*pe

_ Saturday, September 7, 1996 _

“Potter! Get that fine arse down here!”

Blushing furiously, Harry tilted the handle of his Firebolt down and gently touched down on the Quidditch pitch. He’d gotten up early so he could do some individual flying before tryouts, the calming influence of having the pitch to himself was sorely needed after a mere week back at Hogwarts.

Looking toward the castle, Harry saw Katie Bell leading an army of students across the lawn, looking every inch the Captain. “Katie. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t know what a good arse was if it…well, you know.”

“I take offense to that! There was nothing wrong with Samuels,” she protested, raising her chin haughtily. 

“Keep telling yourself that. I’ll remind you that we both shared a changing room with Oliver Wood, who has no shame to speak of.” Ignoring her glare, Harry scanned the crowd Katie had brought with her. “All these kids want to try out?”

Katie shrugged, “They were all down in the Entrance Hall; I told them to follow me if they were there for Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts.”

Half of the kids gathered behind her were so small they had to be first-years, and Harry was sure he’d seen a few yellow and blue ties amongst the sea of red. A flash of dirty blond hair caught Harry’s eye and he raised an eyebrow at James Tuckett, a boy he’d helped out after a rather nasty fall. He knew for a fact the kid was a first-year Hufflepuff. James gave Harry a crooked smile, scuffing his shoes against the turf. The younger students all looked at him with eager smiles and hero worship shining in their eyes, so much so that it made Harry want to sigh in exasperation. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why they were here.

“Right, if anyone’s a first-year or not in Gryffindor, you can go back to the castle now,” Harry said. Groans met his declaration and there was no small amount of muttering, but James and the others followed his directions. 

“Is that everyone?” Katie finally asked, tapping her foot. Giggling, a pair of Ravenclaw girls ran away from the group. Then they were left with the older students, a decent chunk of lower years, and to Harry’s surprise, Dean and Seamus. 

“Harry, I blame you entirely,” said Katie. 

“That’s nothing new, you blame me for everything,” Harry shot back. 

Katie just grinned unrepentantly and began issuing orders, “Listen up you lot! Every single spot on the team is open except for mine, and yes that includes Keeper and Seeker. I’ll separate you by position and we’ll do trials individually as well as in groups to see who works well together. Keepers, I want you over by the goal posts, Beaters by the Ravenclaw stands, Chasers by me, and Seekers by the Hufflepuff stands.”

Everyone went to their assigned place without a word of complaint. Harry retreated to the Hufflepuff stands as he’d been told, but no one followed him. Harry was half relieved that he’d get to keep his spot and half disappointed that he wouldn’t get a chance to fly. He leaned against the bottom of the bleachers, wondering how long it would take Katie to notice. 

As it turned out, not long. “Harry! Get back over here,” shouted Katie. Shrugging, Harry ran back to the centre. 

“Our Seeker is Harry Potter, because he’s bloody amazing and all that rot,” Katie announced, managing to sound pleased and roll her eyes at the same time. Chuckles sounded from the now separated candidates, Seamus in particular looked like he was pleased to witness Harry getting the perpetual mickey taken out of him. 

“Katie! Sorry - I’m - late, overslept,” Ron panted. He was jogging toward the Quidditch pitch with his broom over his shoulder, no Quidditch robes in sight, and a half-eaten bagel in his hand. Harry was mildly shocked to realize that he hadn’t even noticed Ron was missing. 

“Ronald, good. You can go stand with the other Keeper candidates by the goal posts for now, we’re starting with Chasers,” Katie said dispassionately. It was no secret that she and Ron did not get along. 

“Other Keepers?” Ron demanded. “I was Keeper last year!”

“That was last year, all of the positions are open this year regardless if you’ve played on the team before. I said so in the announcement I put up on the notice board, did you not read it?”

“I - well, no! You said to be here at eleven for tryouts, I thought that I’d just be helping,” Ron blustered. He then noticed Harry standing alone a few paces behind Katie and a red flush started rising in his cheeks. “How come Harry hasn’t got to try out then? He was also on the team last year, and the year before that, and the year before that!”

“He would have to try out like everyone else if anyone had bothered to come and challenge him. Frankly, I doubt there’s anyone at Hogwarts who could outfly Harry, and I include Professors McGonagall and Hooch in that,” Katie snapped. 

Realizing that he’d be fighting a losing battle if he pushed further, Ron shut up and stalked off toward the group of Keeper hopefuls. A stocky blond boy Harry didn’t recognize and Seamus Finnegan already stood there. 

“Harry, you want to take the Beaters and put them through some drills?” asked Katie. 

“It would be my genuine pleasure.”

* * *

Sighing heavily, Harry entered the sixth-year bathroom and stripped off his dirty Quidditch robes. He’d never been more glad that he’d turned down the Captaincy than in that moment. Katie had spent half the time yelling at McLaggen - the Keeper hopeful Harry hadn’t recognized - and the other half attempting to keep second-years from falling off their brooms. 

After a gruelling three hours, they had their team. Dean had flown extremely well, which surprised Harry as he hadn’t known that Dean had any interest in Quidditch besides yelling at the ref to give a red card to any Slytherin in the air. Katie had selected him as the second Chaser, with a fourth-year named Demelza Robins rounding out the trio. Their Beaters were Ritchie Coote and Jimmy Peakes, both of whom were short and lean but could wallop one hell of a Bludger.

The Keeper trials had made Harry want to quit playing Quidditch right then and there. Cormac McLaggen had made a right nuisance of himself and tried to tell Katie how she was going about tryouts the wrong way. Harry knew he’d gotten himself disqualified after he grabbed the Quaffle from under her arm and proceeded to show her a Chaser maneuver she was well versed in. Cormac at least had some skill, Ron had performed terribly and barely blocked any goals. Seamus Finnegan blew them both out of the water and had saved several tricky goals, making him the new Keeper. Cormac, Ginny, and Colin Creevey were on the reserve team. Harry, being the only Seeker available, had no reserve and had been told in no uncertain terms that if he got himself knocked out, in detention, or killed on a game day, Katie would ensure that the rest of her time at Hogwarts was dedicated to making Harry miserable. 

Harry shook his head and turned the shower on. Some battles weren’t worth fighting. 

* * *

“Acid Pops,” Harry said to the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office. The creature nodded and slid aside for Harry to enter. On the ride up the stairs to Dumbledore’s office, Harry mentally prepared himself. Dumbledore was a dangerous man, despite the grandfatherly persona he liked to give off to the public.

Before Harry could knock on the door, a voice rang out, “Enter.”

Gritting his teeth, Harry opened to the door to reveal Dumbledore seated behind his desk, the damnable sparkle in his eyes twinkling at full force. 

“Harry, excellent! Sit, sit, I trust your first week back has gone well?” Dumbledore inquired. 

“It’s been eventful,” Harry answered truthfully. He somehow doubted things were ever boring with a Reaper hanging around. 

“Good, good, I’m glad you’re settling in, my boy. Now, I believe it is time to get into the material I have prepared…” here Dumbledore paused, pulling out a very recognizable Pensieve. 

“Er, sir,” Harry began, “what exactly will you be teaching me?” When Dumbledore had offered these lessons, he had been frustratingly vague to the point that Harry nearly declined. One would think Dumbledore had learned his lesson about keeping information from him after the Ministry fiasco. 

“I believe, Harry, that the better you know someone, the closer you are to them, the better your chances become of finding their weak spot. No one, not myself, not you, and certainly not Tom Riddle, holds complete dominion over their weaknesses,” Dumbledore returned to his desk with a single crystal vial filled with a wispy, pale substance. “I have found, over the course of my life, that answers to such questions lie in the past...that is of course, if you can find the right memory.”

With that, Dumbledore wandlessly uncorked the vial and emptied the contents into the empty Pensieve. 

“Hold on,” blurted Harry, “You mean to say you’ve called me up here to look at memories? Excuse me, sir, but I fail to see how shadows of the past can help me defeat Tom Riddle in the present. As it currently stands, he’s got fifty-four years of experience on me and a wand that refuses to fight mine. According to the  _ prophecy,  _ I’m meant to be his equal.”

Harry looked down at his hands, folded nicely in his lap. He couldn’t afford to make an enemy of Dumbledore but surely the old man realized how stupid his plan was. “The way I see it, the only way I’m defeating him is with a lot of training and sheer dumb luck.”

Harry hardly thought he could be blamed if a bit of bitterness leaked out in his voice. He looked back up at Dumbledore and saw that the twinkle had dimmed. Harry viciously thought that he’d like to curse that twinkle into oblivion. He refrained from saying anything about the  _ power the Dark Lord knows not _ as he knew that would just invite trouble, or at least more than he’d just gotten himself into. With the awakening of his elemental powers, Harry reckoned he was close to Voldemort’s power levels, if not above. 

“The prophecy says nothing about you being his magical equal, my boy,” Dumbledore pointed out. “You are his equal because you have everything Tom Riddle lacks, Harry. Kindness, compassion, friends, and above all, the ability to love.”

  
  


That might’ve been the biggest load of hogwash Harry had ever heard spewed from Dumbledore’s mouth, and that was saying something. He acknowledged that being a fundamentally decent person gave him good qualities, but it also gave him a moral compass. Riddle and his followers had no such restrictions. And love? Love had certainly motivated his mother to save him, but a sacrifice of such magnitude that it lingered in Harry’s very blood after his mother passed couldn’t be built on love alone. Love motivated him to look after his friends and save them when they needed it. Harry refused to see that as a weakness, for his friends were his strength and he would call up Death himself (again) to ensure that they would make it through the impending war alive. 

Harry took a deep breath. “We must agree to disagree, sir. I believe you have a memory to show me?”

“Yes, yes, indeed!” said Dumbledore jovially, the thrice damned twinkle back to full brightness. “I obtained this memory from Bob Ogden, a member of the DMLE who once made a quite unusual house call. After you,” he gestured with his good hand toward the Pensieve. 

Shoving his apprehension down, Harry stuck a finger into the swirling memory and, with an unpleasant jolt, landed on a street just outside Little Hangleton. 

* * *

Harry was unceremoniously rejected from the Pensieve at the conclusion of the memory. He had to repress the bile making its way up from his stomach. It was one thing to be told of Voldemort’s origins by Rami and quite another to witness them for himself. 

“What are your thoughts, Harry?” Dumbledore asked mildly.

“My thoughts? I think Merope Gaunt made some pretty bad choices, that’s what I think!” Harry snapped. 

Dumbledore had clearly not been expecting that. “Merope?”

It infuriated Harry that Dumbledore was genuinely asking what Merope had done wrong. That one memory had told him more of Tom Riddle Jr.’s conception than he’d ever wanted to know. 

“For one, it’s clear that Voldemort’s father was the man on the horse at the end of the memory. He looks just like Voldemort did when he came out of the diary, although Riddle Sr. appeared to be a bit older than sixteen in that memory. Since I doubt that Tom is the product of Riddle Sr. and the girl on the horse next to him, who are both clearly muggles, I’d bet all my galleons that Merope is Voldemort’s mother. Riddle clearly had no interest in Merope, so I’d guess she resorted to using a Love Potion on him.” Harry had gotten up and started to pace at this point, fuming at the implications. “That’s rape, sir, no matter how you try to dress it up. She obviously didn’t have the best home life, but that doesn’t excuse her choices, nor did it cause them. If that were the case, I’d be running around trying to dose everyone in Hogwarts.”

  
  


Harry took great pleasure in noting that he’d managed to render Dumbledore speechless. The old man’s mouth was hanging open and he looked like someone had beaned him over the head. 

“You’ll attract flies if you leave your mouth open any longer, sir.”

Dumbledore closed his mouth with an audible snap. He frowned, looking down at the gaudy ring on his left hand. “I see,” he said slowly. “You are correct in your observation that Merope was Voldemort’s mother, and that the man we saw at the end was his father. I also agree that Merope likely used a love potion, especially since she didn’t have much magic herself. They were together for a few years before Merope got pregnant. Riddle Sr. broke things off with her four months into her pregnancy and moved back home, so I assume she stopped dosing him when she realized she was pregnant. Merope would later die in childbirth and leave her child to the care of an orphanage, and Tom murdered Riddle Sr. in his own home the summer before sixth year. Do you not think, though, that Merope is to be pitied? She was in an impossible situation.”

“I cannot condone her actions. As callous as it sounds to say, she brought it on herself, Professor. Love potions do not create love, they create a pale imitation of the real thing.”

Dumbledore was frowning now, frustrated that Harry was not saying what he wanted him to say. Merope Gaunt was simply not, in Harry’s mind, a pitiable figure. She was in full control of her actions and had known exactly what she was doing. 

Dumbledore raised his arms and leaned against his desk, preparing for another round of persuasion. His sleeve, spangled with stars and moons, slid down to reveal a blackened hand. Harry had already known of it, but the sight was still startling. 

“Professor, if I may, what happened to your hand?” Harry blurted, partly to change the subject but also because he wanted to know if Dumbledore would admit the truth. Rami had told him what the ring Dumbledore currently wore had been and how the man had come by his injury. 

“Never you mind, my boy.” Dumbledore said airily, pulling his sleeve back up. “Oh my, look at the time. I think you’d best be going, Harry. Please do think about what I’ve shown you tonight.”

Relieved that he had an easy escape, Harry bade the professor a good night and beat a hasty retreat. The man hadn’t said why his hand was so blackened, which was hardly a surprise. Dumbledore was the type to hold all his cards close to his chest and wait and see which way the wind was blowing. 

They’d reached the point where the wind wasn’t blowing, it was howling, and borne upon that wind was echoes of the drums of war. If ever there was a time to reveal your hand, it was now, and Harry was furious that the old man was still keeping secrets from him. He’d worked himself up into a right strop by the time he reached Gryffindor Tower.

“Dilligrout,” he told the Fat Lady, who obediently swung open. Harry made for his bed, eager to finish the last of his essays and rest. 

It wasn’t to be, however, as Ron was lying on his bed tossing a miniature Quaffle over his head. Dean was sitting in the window alcove, drawing in his sketchpad and studiously ignoring the steady  _ thwaps  _ of the ball hitting Ron’s hand. Both boys looked up as Harry entered. Dean waved and returned to his drawing, but Ron swung his legs over the side of his bed and stared at Harry. 

“Potter.”

“Weasley. What’ve I done to get the last name treatment?” asked Harry. 

“You know full well what,” Ron scowled, “You let Katie kick me off the team!”

Harry couldn’t say he hadn’t seen this coming, Ron was nothing if not predictable. “First of all, no one  _ lets  _ Katie do anything, she does as she bloody well pleases. Second, I’m not the Captain, so I have no say when it comes to who is on the team. In any case, Seamus performed better than you, therefore he’s the Keeper.”

“I was on the team last year,” Ron shouted. “That should count for something!”

“Take it up with Katie, I’m done with your shit,” Harry snapped. He wasn’t lying either, Ron had been much more prone to flying off the handle at the slightest provocation lately. 

Ron’s whole face had gone red and he was squeezing the poor Quaffle to death. “Fine, Potter, I’ll get out of your way,” he spat, storming out of the room. 

Harry slumped down on his bed in exhaustion. As of late, being Ron’s friend seemed like more work than it was worth. 

“Ron’s an arsehole,” Dean piped up. He’d set down his drawing and was focusing on Harry. 

Against his will, Harry chuckled. “No arguments here.”

Dean fidgeted with his hands for a moment, looking as if he was weighing his next words carefully. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know what you see in him and Hermione,” he said finally. “I mean, Ron’s hot-tempered, jealous, and fickle with his feelings. Granger seems to think she knows best for everybody and constantly looks down on the rest of us for not being as smart as her. 

Harry sat up straight at that. Ron and Hermione had been his very first friends at Hogwarts and while a part of him would always be loyal to them for that, he was hard pressed to refute any of Dean’s points, and he told Dean that.

“It just seems like you could do better than them, mate. Both of them seem to like riding your coattails, they just like the reputation they get from being your best friends,” said Dean. 

“At any given time, half the school hates me and the other half thinks I can do no wrong. It’s exhausting, Dean, trying to live up to expectations. I thought they’d stand by me regardless of what others think, but I guess I was wrong,” Harry sighed. This schism between him and Ron and Hermione had been growing for a while now, he just never thought it would end in a complete fracture of their friendship.

“Hey, you’ve still got the rest of us,” Dean nudged his shoulder. “I promise that Neville, Seamus, and I don’t hate you or think the sun shines out of every bodily orifice you possess.”

Harry laughed bitterly. It was true, every other boy in his dorm had never been anything other than unfailingly polite to him, excluding that period last year when Seamus thought he was an attention-seeking liar. Harry couldn’t help but wonder how things would’ve turned out if he’d met one of them first instead of letting a snot-nosed ginger sit beside him on the train that day. 

“Thanks, I really do appreciate it,” said Harry, giving Dean a slight smile. 

“Anytime, mate,” Dean said cheerfully. “Now, if the Boy Who Lived could go mope on his bed, I need to see out the window so I can finish my drawing,” Dean shook his sketchpad for emphasis.

“Well, I can see when I’m not wanted,” Harry said with an affected sniff. 

“Seeing as you don’t have the sun shining out of your arse, I’d rather get this done before I lose the light.” Dean joked back. Suddenly serious, he continued, “You’re welcome to sit with me - with us - anytime, though.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Harry warned. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've mentioned before, I made a discord server for my fics! Join for discussions about cloning, procrastination, google translate, and general mayhem.  
> https://discord.gg/PhguAGRTPs


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